The Guardian
by Bixata
Summary: Major General Jack O'Neill has been missing for 12 years. Where he's been, what happened to him, and his return home. Oh yeah, he can't speak and he's not alone. SJ ship
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Jack goes missing for twelve years at the end of season 8. This is the story of his life of imprisonment and his recovery when he finally makes it home, mute and injured, with two surprises in tow.

_The Guardian_ is not like my other story _Climbing the Abyss_ and its sequel _Abyss of My Soul_, in which Jack deals with the aftermath of his two year imprisonment by Ba'al, though there are obviously similarities.

This is a Jack/Sam ship, it doesn't go into their relationship much beyond their friendship until the very end, though he frequently mentions how much he loves her and what she means to him which is considerably sappy.

The story is completely written and just needs to be typed up (I write everything by hand), but I'm open to rewrites if you offer suggestions. Hope you enjoy, and please review.

Bixata

STORY WARNINGS: rated T for language, descriptions of torture (not too graphic)

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The Guardian**

Prologue

They call me the Guardian.

Does that grab your attention? I was going for profound and inspirational, something exciting that would get you to buy this book with the hopes of reading it cover to cover and learning something from it, something about me, about yourself, about humanity.

Did it work?

I'm sure my publisher will let me know, not that I need or want your money, although there are plenty of things I could do with loads of cash. Showering the love of my life with gifts, for instance, though she frequently tells me she has everything she wants in life. I'm pleased to say that includes me and our two kids, who I thoroughly plan to embarrass somewhere in this historical account of my life. If this book supports their college fund then I deserve to have a little fun with them.

I don't suppose that really interests you. If it does…you probably don't want to read this story. No offense, but if that's all you hope to get form this then I don't want you to read it. So put the book down and go find the biography of some glamorous movie star, or some old president or…Bob Hope. I've got more important things to say.

Like why I'm called the Guardian.

My real name is Jack O'Neill. I was a member of the United States Air Force, and proud of it. I've spent most of my life in the field, special ops, covert operations, classified missions I'm not at liberty to discuss and would never tell you about anyway. I've done some things I'm not proud of, but I'm by no means an evil person. Just loyal to a fault. Loyal to my country, my friends, my family.

I don't want to make you uncomfortable. This is just my background, to show you who I was before to compare with who I am now. Not that I'm a different person, per se, I've just got different priorities.

So who is Jack O'Neill?

Colonel Jack O'Neill always sounded the best to me. Way better than Major O'Neill, even better than General O'Neill. It just kind of rolls off the tongue, Colonel O'Neill. That's how I remember myself, though they did finally give me a pair of stars. Something to brag about at high school reunions. Major General Jack O'Neill. I turned down the third star to do the right thing, to live a life for me, to get what I wanted more than anything in this life. My wife.

I waited five years for her and I was sick of waiting. Unfortunately it was another twelve years of waiting before we could be together. This is her story, too, because at this point in my life I can't even think about my life without her. What I mean to say is she defines me, who I am, what I am. I'm the man who loves Samantha Carter O'Neill. I can shout it out to the world if I want, because I'm allowed to say it. I'm supposed to say it. I don't have to hide it anymore. Fifteen years is a long time to hide a secret as big as that. But I'm pretty good at hiding secrets. Part of the job.

This is not really a romance novel. I'm not usually prone to sharing such personal information but I feel it is my duty to inform you all about our relationship. Not that I'm bragging because I've got the most amazing woman in the Universe…actually I am but that's neither here nor there. I'm just trying to paint as clear a picture as I can about who I am and how I came to be the Guardian. Not that you're going to find that out yet. The specifics come later in the book, how I earned that title.

Honestly, I've always considered myself a guardian of sorts, a protector of the innocent. I divide my life into four parts by three defining moments. My youth I disregard entirely for in no way am I the same man who…never mind about that.

The first defining moment was the birth of my son, Charlie. That's when I learned how to be a guardian. That's when I learned to love something more than myself, more than life, more than anything in this vast universe of ours.

And that's when I learned abject failure. When Charlie died I had become a failure. It was my duty, my honor, to protect my little boy and I failed him miserably. His death was the second defining moment of my life for two reasons. I died, and I was reborn.

For you religious nuts, either for or against, I am sorry to say I did not mean that in the literal sense. Though technically I have died on numerous occasions my resurrection was never a miracle. Usually it was the result of devoted doctors like Janet Fraiser, a brave woman I was proud to call my friend, who died saving lives. Sometimes it wasn't, but I'm not at liberty to discuss it. Classified you know.

Anyway, I was discussing my death. Parents aren't meant to outlive their children. It's unnatural. It's painful, excruciatingly painful, and I didn't handle it too well. Thought of suicide, actually held the same weapon which took Charlie's life between my teeth. Luckily I never pulled the trigger.

Took a suicide mission instead. Fortunately I failed there too and found a way home. But that isn't what this story is about, though I could probably write another book, maybe a series, of where exactly that turning point led me. Thoughts of a diverging road come to mind and I'd have to agree with Mr. Frost that I most definitely took the road less traveled by. Although I hate to end a beautiful phrase like that with a preposition. Oh well, poets never play by the rules. Not that I do either.

So there was life before my son, life with my son, and life after my son. This story is about none of those. This story is about life after my death.

I'm not a ghost, in case you're wondering. I've just been legally dead for twelve years. Dead to this world, to my friends, and yet, never dead in the eyes of Samantha Carter. Which is one of the reasons I love her so much. She's always kept me alive, saved my life as many times as I've saved hers, which, in the military sense, is not a figurative statement. But sometimes it is.

She just won't let me off myself. I haven't been suicidal since Charlie's death, I cling to life like a leech, I suck it for all it's worth. But sometimes I just don't care for the options I'm given. Sometimes I'm just too tired. But then she asks me to live for her, and I can't say no. I can't leave her like that, because despite the regulations imposed on us as officers in the US Air Force we love each other. As her commanding officer I wasn't allowed to do anything about it. I wasn't really allowed to care about her as much as I did.

Screw the regs. You can't help who you fall in love with, especially if that someone is Samantha Carter. I could have retired, transferred, shot myself in the foot, and you may wonder why I didn't. If I had, I wouldn't be there to protect her. Our work is dangerous, and I'd rather have her as a live subordinate officer than a dead lover (I wish I hadn't phrased it quite like that, that's a disgusting image).

They don't call me the Guardian for nothing.

Anyway, that was years ago and I'm pleased to say the regs are no longer a problem, and we're happily married with two kids, a dog, white picket fence, the whole nine yards. But you probably don't care about that. I'm quite biased. I like my happiness. I'd rather write about my wife and kids but that's not what they're paying me for. Or why you bought this book. Don't worry, I'm getting there.

Most of this story is about pain and you may wonder why I'm being so lighthearted right now. It's a defense mechanism, one I perfected years ago. If you're smiling, nobody asks you how you're doing. The truth is, there are a lot of painful memories that I stirred up in order to write something that had meaning to all our lives.

I'm no philosopher, and I'm certainly not a prophet. I'm a soldier. A soldier of misfortune perhaps, but in the grand scheme of things I wouldn't trade my life for all the cake on Earth. I should clarify, I have a serious obsession with food, especially cake. It's a wonder I'm not grossly obese. Or even just plain fat. No, I'm a scrawny 150 pounds on a 6'1" frame (if it's not the Asgard it's gravity shrinking me). Side effect of being the guardian.

There's that defense mechanism. Making light humor of my condition. There are some memories I'd like to forget, but I'm told I have to face them front on in order to move on with my life. Frankly, that's a load of crap. I don't need to remember. I've moved on just fine. They just want a piece of the action. Profits of my misery, so to speak. Although some of them are just plain curious. They want to know what happened to me, where I'd been for ten years, how I survived it. They want to know why I'm called the Guardian.

So here goes.

Chapter 1

It was twenty below the day I was born. Snow was six feet high, my folks couldn't get to the hospital in time. Or at all. I was born the place I was conceived, in the bedroom of an old Minnesota cabin. No electricity, no hot running water, no blankets, no roof.

Just kidding. I was actually born in Chicago. You gotta have a little fun.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was supposed to be a diplomatic mission. Safe, short-term, there and back in a day, and absolutely no danger. That's why they allowed an aging Major General to tag along.

Somehow the locals had heard of me. I've helped a lot of people over the years and word gets around. Naturally, I took the mission. I miss the field. Being a Major General isn't all it's cracked up to be. Nothing but paperwork. I hate paperwork. Hate doesn't even being to describe it. I loathe paperwork. Give me a 9-mil and a pound of C-4 and I'd face a hoard of Mongols single-handedly before I'd decide a stack of paperwork was the better option.

Big mistake.

I don't know the details of my capture. One minute I'm chatting up the locals, the next I'm being dragged along on my back, my arms tied to the rear end of a wagon being pulled by horses. Horses with claws, the kind that went extinct years ago on Earth.

The nail that I swear is being driven through my skull is accompanied by the hammer itself. I shout to let them know I'm awake, but they don't stop. I pull myself up on the rope and get to my feet, tripping and stumbling until I get my balance and match the speed of the wagon, glancing around at the situation.

The only thing I see is the butt of the staff just before it crashes against my temple and I'm out for the count.

When I finally regain consciousness I'm flat on my back, my arms tucked at my side. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm not blind, that it's just dark wherever I am, probably a prison. At least, it smells like one. It takes me another minute to realize that my right shoulder is dislocated.

I curse at the thought of putting it back in, by myself, with no pain meds in the foreseeable future. But like the practical soldier I am I do what needs to be done.

Didn't feel so good. I've had worse, a lot worse, but that doesn't make it any easier. Cradling my arm with the support of my other hand I struggle to my feet to get a good look around. My eyes adjust to the dim light of the stars above and I realize this is no ordinary prison.

There are no walls or doors or bars or even a ceiling. Just cliffs. They seem to go on forever, rising higher than the Great Pyramids of Egypt. Sheer cliff faces. Ten years ago, maybe, but at my age with a busted arm…I wouldn't be climbing out any time soon. There has to be another way out, but it will have to wait.

A man wearing a black uniform approaches me, another slightly behind him, pointing his weapon right at my chest. The first is holding a cup of water. He takes a sip and I realize he's toying with me.

I've been tortured before, I know the routine. Show a man what he wants, taunt him with it, but never let him have it. It doesn't work on me. I've known Samantha Carter more than ten years and I've never had her, never really thought I could. Who needs water more than they need Samantha Carter?

He seems disappointed by my apathy. And he becomes downright annoyed when I start talking.

"Where have you taken me?" I ask defiantly, and am pleased by the strength of my voice.

I'm not surprised when he doesn't answer me.

"I'm a General of the United States Air Force. You don't want to mess with me."

They seem delighted by my threats, though they have no idea what the United States Air Force is.

"So how about you just let me go and I'll forget this whole thing ever happened," I wisely compromise.

They just laugh at me, saying nobody ever gets out of there. I'd like to whack them a good one. They're obviously amateurs. I could have them both disarmed and begging for mercy in two seconds flat if I had both arms. I could probably find a way even with the useless appendage, but there's nowhere to go, I don't know the area yet. So I bite back the urge to knock them senseless and walk away from them, checking for a way out, some passageway perhaps leading to an all-too-convenient elevator to take me to the surface with the push of a button.

Alas it is not to be.

They really don't like me ignoring them. I sense them coming and spring around, striking the first man a bone-crunching pop to the nose, and slam him back against the second guy, knocking them both over on their butts.

They really hate me now and there's nowhere to go, nothing to fight for, nothing with which to defend myself. Especially now that I've attracted the others.

I sit down submissively, shielding my arm, letting them see I'm no threat anymore, that I won't hurt them if they leave me alone. I can't afford to get hurt.

They don't buy my act, and soon I'm curled up on my side, protecting my delicate ribs from their booted onslaught. My shoulder slips out again just before I pass out.

SJSJSJSJ

I really don't want to be awake. I want to sleep forever. You don't feel anything when you're asleep. But I'm not asleep anymore so I must endure the agony brought on by my insolent, arrogant manner of dealing with the situation.

I need water. Not want, need.

I'm not a religious man, but I swear my prayers have been answered. A woman is sitting beside me, cradling a cup of water in her hands. When she sees I'm awake she brings it up to my lips and lifts my head slightly, pouring the precious liquid into my mouth. I nod gratefully and she nods back.

"Your arm." She says, pointing at my bad shoulder. "We fixed its location for you. We managed to get you a portion of food. You need to eat it. It will be some time before you get more." Then she stands up and walks away before I can thank her or try to make conversation.

I manage to force down the slop she called food. It was worse than chewing day old coffee grinds. The nausea of my head trauma and the shoulder pain doesn't help the taste at all but I manage to keep it down by sheer will alone, knowing what trouble I could be in if I can't get food and water in the near future.

I try to stand but the ache in my ribs doesn't let me. I manage to sit up, cradling my useless arm. This isn't good. Not good at all. Defenseless, alone, injured, imprisoned, hungry, thirsty, confused…everything I don't want to be. It's a familiar act to me. Been there, done that, got the scars and nightmares to prove it.

This was different. These people I see around me, the other prisoners, are different. There are women and children here, babies even. I can see them huddled in corners, cowering like abused puppies resigned to their fate. These people are beaten in every sense of the word. It makes me sick to see human beings like that, and I swear that no matter what, I will never be like them. I will never give up.

I came close to giving up before. I would never put the security of my country at risk but everyone has a breaking point. Turns out mine is death. Not so much dying, it's the being dead part that I dislike. And then the not staying dead. But that's classified.

I watch them. It's what I'm trained to do, observe and assess the situation. My assessment isn't very promising. My preliminary search of my new prison doesn't reveal a way out, aside from free climbing a 200 meter sheer cliff face with a dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, concussion, and a headache the size of Antarctica.

I've been to Antarctica. I hate it there. Bad things happen there. Broken ribs, broken leg, internal bleeding, hypothermia, rare incurable disease, being frozen in time as my brain shuts down. It's not my favorite place in the world. Just thinking about it makes me shiver. On the other hand, Antarctica reminds me of Carter. She was there with me the first time, when I was injured and we were trapped under the ice. Don't ask how we got there.

We'd been working together about a year by then. I had no idea that she would become the most important woman in my life, that I would fall in love with her. She wasn't really the same Sam that I fell in love with. She was young and naïve, and didn't have enough confidence in herself. Oh, she was cocky as hell over trivial stuff, but when it came to absolute survival she honestly didn't think we'd be getting out of there.

I don't think like that. Being a family man by nature, albeit one without a family at the time, I know for sure that I'm going to make it home. I owe it to them. That was my first time since Charlie's death that it looked like I might not make it. So I focused on her. I pushed, I cajoled, I promised, I swore she would make it home, that we would make it home. She didn't really believe me.

After we're rescued she believes me. We always make it home.

But she isn't with me now, and I miss her. Not that I want her here with me, imprisoned by sadistic bastards. I just miss her. It hasn't really hit me yet that I'm in Hell.

The children don't play here. They don't have the energy for it. I remember Charlie getting really sick once and he could barely crawl out of bed. This is worse. The Holocaust Jews, worse than the starving children I've seen in my travels to third world countries, emaciation and fear and hopelessness. It's an ugly sight.

I need to help them. I have to do something for them. It's my way. In prison you can't show any weaknesses, there will always be someone there to exploit them, but my weakness, and one I can't ignore, is children. It's my way. Sometimes there's no hope for the adults, but the children? Children don't deserve the sins of their parents. Children are innocent and good, everything I've sworn to protect. They deserve better than this.

And so I know they will be my greatest weakness.

Over the first few days I get my bearings. I antagonize the guards as little as possible, hoping to allow my shoulder enough time to recover. And my head.

The woman had been right about the food. We don't get another bite to eat for nearly 72 hours. By then my stomach has coiled in on itself from hunger. It was green goop this time. Smelled worse than it looked, and tasted just as bad, but none of us were complaining.

I watch the guards closely, studying their routine. They seem unconcerned by me, which I list in my favor. It's good to be underestimated. You can get away with a lot of things. I've counted 15 guards so far. The shifts changed, and I know there has to be a way out for them to come and go. I just need to find it.

The others aren't talking. They ignore my questions with blank expressions as though they think I'm deluding myself. I hate when they do that. Makes my job so much harder.

I'm sleeping fitfully, alone, off in some corner as far away from the others as I can get, when I hear the crying. It's a child's voice, a young boy. I run to the sound as fast as I can, my protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

One of the guards is kicking the screaming child in the back. The small boy is curled up on his side protectively as he takes the beating, and seeing that makes my blood boil. No way am I putting up with this.

I dive at the guard like a whirlwind, knocking him to the ground and driving his shoulders in with a sickening crunch. I lash out at his face and he's unconscious by the second blow. I strike him again for good measure, ignoring the pain in my hand and shoulder as I beat the man to a bloody pulp. He deserves far worse in my book.

That's when the guards pull me off. Rather, throw me off and reciprocate the punishment by kicking me and knocking me senseless.

I'm sure it isn't healthy to be knocked unconscious as many times as I have been in the last week. Or even over the span of my lifetime. You don't want to know the number of times I've awoken not knowing where I am and how I got there. And that's disregarding the times it was alcohol-induced.

This time when I wake up there is a man with me. He silently hands me some food and water then walks away. I watch as he sits down across the room next to the young boy I had defended. At least the kid has family in a place like this. As a matter of fact, everyone seems to have someone else with them. I'm really the only one who doesn't have anyone.

Not that I care. I'm used to being alone. Normally I have my team but I am extremely grateful they aren't stuck here with me. Though Carter would have probably found a way out by now. Something brilliant.

Being the stubborn soldier I am I decide not to wait patiently for miracles. So I become my normal, irascible self and antagonize the guards, shouting insults at their cowardice for daring to hurt a defenseless child, criticizing the dump of a place they're keeping us in, making a nuisance of myself as I try to reason with them to let me go.

My defiance doesn't go unnoticed, by either the guards or the other prisoners. They watch me curiously, the guards flicking their whips threateningly, the prisoners just waiting silently from afar. The guards don't seem to want to get close. Even with just the one arm I had done some serious damage to their cohort, but they also look as though they'd like nothing better than to splatter my brains across the floor. I don't care for that.

But me and my big mouth, the words just come out, I can't help it. It's who I am. I can't control the situation but I can control how they perceive me. I'm a leader, I need to have some control. And I am in complete control when I insult their manhood and get thrashed for it. Somehow it's reassuring.

And stupid.

I've taken lashes before but nothing quite like this. In all those prison flicks and slave stories and my own experiences in war you do a bad thing and you get twenty or so lashes on the back. Not here. They don't care where they get you or how many times.

Before I even hit the ground three guards have me surrounded and each inflicts a single thunderous clap against my body. My shirt and jacket protect me from the ones to my back and chest but I can already feel the blood trickling down a long thin line on my cheek, running into the corner of my mouth and trailing down my neck. I hit the ground like a flash, shielding my face from their attack.

These guys are ruthless, and I have no idea why. Generally when I'm being tortured they at least do me the courtesy of asking questions, meaningless or not. These guys make no pretense of an interrogation. They just seem to enjoy hurting me. Maybe this isn't such a good idea, my being so vocal about my displeasure at being locked up in a pit, that is.

I don't like being hurt. I try to avoid it at all costs but sometimes it's necessary in my line of work to step in and take the bullet. Not that these swell folks are shooting me, it's a figure of speech for crying out loud. But seeing as my taking the bullet had done nothing to further my cause I make the unusually wise decision not to mess with these guys without reason. Although getting home is an excellent reason to get thrashed, it's not so fun when you're still locked up after your troubles.

I don't verbally assault them on my own anymore. Not without reason.

The cut on my face starts on my forehead over the right eye and tracks down my cheek, passing harmlessly over the eye socket. There are no mirrors here, but I can feel the swollen edges of the tract and I know it's a fiery red wound prone to infection in a place like this. Nothing to do about that but hope for the best. I clean it up as best I can with my meager water supply but there is nothing with which to cover it.

There's no first aid in Hell.

After the guards have left the father of the young boy comes over to me.

"You should not antagonize the guards," he tells me seriously.

Ya think?

"Somebody has to do it." I mutter, trying to keep my face still as my flapping jaw pulls at my wound.

"They will kill you." He kneels down beside me and offers me some water. I accept it gratefully, it's the first real act of kindness I've seen down here, aside from him and the woman giving me food earlier. It was my share anyway, but now he's giving his portion of water to me, and that's really something to appreciate.

I take a sip and hand it back, not wishing to appear greedy. He willingly takes it back and finishes it off before I can even consider asking for it back. I smile at the gesture, despite the pain it causes my face. He looks at me curiously.

"You are smiling?" He's surprised that I can smile at a time like this. People don't smile here.

"Thank you for the water," I say, trying my best not to grimace as I smile gratefully at him.

He's trying, he really is, to smile back at me. His face is gaunt, his eyes sunken, and he looks like a grinning skull, his lips somehow managing to quirk up, but his eyes are lifeless and there is no humor there, no sincerity, no life. "Thank you for helping my son."

He means it, he just can't show it anymore.

I acknowledge his gratitude with a nod and before I can say anything else he is gone.

SJSJSJSJSJ

Three days later I see Carter.

Infection has set in and I recognize the familiar signs of fever as my body shakes convulsively. My skull is on fire and my cheek throbs with every beat of my heart. I'm glad there are no mirrors, I probably don't look so great.

I'm curled up on my side in the corner I have designated as my own when she appears, kneeling before me.

"Carter." I cry out to her surprised. "What're you doing here?"

"You don't look so good, sir. We should get you to Janet."

I know I'm imagining her. Janet is dead, real Carter would know that.

"I could go for that." I whisper through clenched teeth. "I'd take Doc and her needles over this any day."

She smiles at me, the most beautiful smile I've ever seen and I can't help but think she's really there. Only Carter can smile like that, looking more beautiful and radiant than I could ever imagine.

Apparently I can imagine pretty good.

She sits down just out of reach, a Carter thing to do. We don't touch. We realized more than six years ago that there was something between us, and maintaining a physical distance was the best way not to act on it. So we don't touch. Sure, I hugged her when her father died, when her best friend Janet was killed on the same mission I was critically wounded, when she was dead on her feet after being chased through the woods by the enemy after surviving an explosion of the base camp. She needed a shoulder to lean on and I was there for her. Always.

I realize I'm not there for her anymore.

"You're going to make it, sir." She says determinedly.

I smile through the spasms that wrack my body. She never lets me give up.

She starts talking about all her technical doodads that she's always playing with at home. My favorite scientist. My genius. She knows things I could never hope to understand. She says things I can't even pronounce that just roll off her tongue like silk. She breaks it down for me, simplifies it so a cow could understand, with visual imagery if it calls for it. She's a theoretical astrophysicist. She once explained wormhole theory to me with an apple. I still don't understand but she was so adorable twisting that imaginary apple about as she described a worm burrowing through it.

I don't eat apples anymore.

I drift off to sleep with her voice whispering lovely words in my head, like neutrino radiation and pulse wave generator and astronomical proportions.

I miss her.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Carter was right. I made it. Feel awful but I'm alive. Hungry as a horse, thirsty, exhausted, aching. I've probably lost ten pounds already, and not in a good way. I'm starving and it's no exaggeration. I don't know how long I've been out or if anyone has bothered to make sure I was alive. There's a cup of water a short distance away and a bowl of food and I could have kissed the gift horse on the mouth for that small grace. Luckily I wouldn't have to.

I crawl to my small meal and suck it in greedily. It helps a little but not enough. I drink the water slowly and I understand what that dying man in the desert feels when he finds his oasis. Of course, I've been there myself already but…well, it's classified.

I almost don't hear the screams, so intent am I on my delicious water that tastes anything but delicious. And when I do finally hear them, I almost decide to let it be. I'm tired. I hurt. I don't want to deal with somebody else's problem.

But I'm a General in the US Air Force, butting into other people's lives is what we do. I sway as I rise to my feet and stagger heavily towards the screams.

Everybody else is just watching. The others line the walls, watching with blank, expressionless faces as the guards assault a young woman. Two guards in a room full of prisoners and they just let it happen. Makes me sick.

I know I shouldn't call attention to myself, but she's defenseless and bleeding. I dash forward, knocking the first guard to the ground by tripping him backwards over my foot, and have the second in a one-armed chokehold before they know what hit them. I meet the woman's gaze and she scurries away.

As I tighten my grip I growl something to the effect of "You got to beat up on a woman to feel like a man?" but I know I would never actually stoop to such a cliché. It's probably more like, "What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

He splutters in my arm as the first guy gets up and comes at me threateningly. I hold the second guy between us like a shield, stepping back.

"Let him go," he demands.

I don't think they expect me to do it. So I don't.

"Let me go." I order with all the authority I can muster. "I'm more trouble to you if you don't. Just let me go and I'll never bother you again." I'll send an army instead.

"That's not my call," he replies, stepping towards me. Then he realizes something, and he knows my weakness. He knows how to break Jack O'Neill.

He pulls his gun and points it at the woman I had just saved from their attack. "Let him go or I shoot the woman."

I don't have to think about it. I let him go.

He sputters and coughs as he sucks in air, stumbling over to his partner. I stand defiantly, my shoulders squared, facing the inevitable. I know what's coming, they won't just let me get away with that.

This is so not good.

"You ever lay a hand on any of us again we start shooting the women. If you hurt any of us we kill the children. Do you understand?"

I glare fiercely as I nod my head.

They don't hurt me. I hide my surprise when they walk away without laying a finger on me. I glance over at the woman who is crying on the floor, a man beside her holding her arms, whispering to her. My gaze sweeps across the room at all the other frightened faces.

I curse and walk back to my corner, knowing I can never fight again. I'll not be responsible for their deaths. But I don't have to be silent about it.

A week later and I'm feeling much better. My ribs and back are healing nicely, my face has scabbed over and is slowly closing up, the hunger pains have lessened as my body grows accustomed to its new diet, and nobody has laid a hand on me all week. Everybody keeps their distance from me. Probably think I'm crazy. They keep their eyes on me, watch me carefully, the man who would defy the oppressors, who protects the women and children at his own expense, who seeks freedom. I'm everything they aren't, I'm hope and humanity and freedom. I am their protector. I am their Guardian.

They just don't know it yet.

SJSJSJSJ

The month goes by and things have been more or less calm, due primarily to our change in status. This isn't just a prison camp anymore. We're slave labor. We do everything a normal society would, except grow food. It wouldn't survive down here anyway, there's not enough sunlight.

We mine. Or rather, I mine. There are other tasks but I don't do them. The women make clothes and blankets and these goods are whisked away, leaving only scraps behind to fashion garments for ourselves. My combat uniform is holding out well despite the lashings and it will be some time before I will have to discard it for something else. It's small favors like these that keep you sane.

I have fallen into the routine quite easily. I've mined before, been slave labor before, I know what I'm doing. So do they. We work with our hands, and when a tool is needed they certainly never give it to me. Probably think I'll drive it through their head or something. Not a bad thought, really.

Now that we actually serve some purpose they don't hurt us for the fun of it anymore. They still whip and beat those who lag behind, but it is no longer the full on assault, so I'm not needed. They seem to get a perverse pleasure from lashing me though. It's hot in the mines but I never take my jacket off anymore. My shirt had been torn to shreds when I did, and my back now bears the scars of that mistake.

I'm probably down to 150 pounds. They feed us every 72 hours, or every other day on this planet, which is certainly not healthy, but we manage. I can feel my strength waning every day, but I keep going like there's nothing wrong.

Another month passes before I finally give up looking for a way out. I know a way out, there's just no possibility of me going that way. Not with this shoulder. It doesn't hurt anymore but it's weak and lacks it's previous mobility. I'm not climbing out anytime soon. Maybe in a few years.

That thought leaves me cold. I shouldn't have to wait that long. I've done four months in Iraq and that was plenty. They must have no idea where I am, because they would never leave me behind like this. Not Carter. She always gets me back, always finds a way. She defies her precious laws of physics to rescue me. I love her for that.

Another month and there are two new guards. They're worse than the others, take more pleasure in our pain and suffering, delight in it. They've been warned about me, and they put it to the test, laying out a little girl and knocking her senseless as they kick at her, laughing.

I throw my body over hers and absorb the assault. I'm not allowed to touch them, but I can still defend the children. Jack O'Neill can still protect the innocent. They laugh and kick me harder, bending down to smack me in the head, hoping I'll pass out and crush the young girl beneath me.

I don't pass out. I cling to consciousness until they've finally had enough and walk away laughing.

She looks up at me with wide, frightened eyes, so scared. I'm in an extremely compromising position, on top of her like this, my arms braced on either side of her to keep my weight off her. I don't have the strength to move.

"Can you move?" I ask her gently.

She nods her head.

"Go find your Mom." I say, nodding for her to crawl out from under me. She pulls herself out and only after she has run away and I hear her crying to her mother do I allow myself to crash to the floor.

Carter's there again. I can hear her sighing at my condition.

"That was very brave, sir," she says, seeming more real to me than the little girl had been.

I don't say anything to her. It wasn't brave. It was reflex.

"Don't do it again, General."

Carter giving me orders? That a new one. "I been gone that long, Carter? You giving me orders, now?" I want to smile but I can't.

"I don't want you getting hurt. Please, sir, you've been through too much. I don't know how much more of this you can take. Please, Jack."

I love how Carter says my name. Jack. Real Carter never calls me that. Except when I'm dying and she wants me to live. I find a way to do that for her, I always find a way.

"Can't make any promises." I whisper as my eyes threaten to close, but I focus on her face. She could be the last thing I see in this world and that's the best thing I could hope for. Carter's face with me forever. There are worse ways to go.

She's stepping closer and looks me straight in the eye. "You hang in there, sir. I'll be waiting for you."

As my eyes close I wonder if she is. She's already waited so long for me, what more could I expect? She deserves to be happy, to have her own life. I don't want her to wait for a dead man. They must think I'm dead, she must know it. She shouldn't wait for me.

But my imaginary Carter should. The Carter of my dreams is always waiting for me. I'm too selfish to give her up. She stays with me, because I need her.

All the while wishing I had real Carter. Real Carter is always better than the dream.

I fall asleep right there in the middle of the room, wishing I were home with Carter.

SJSJSJSJSJ

Don't talk anymore. Not allowed. First they take his fight, now they take his voice.

The new guard is pure evil, the devil incarnate. He's beating a little boy and the soldier and father in me throws my body between them and curses at him, insulting his cowardice and screaming at him to pick on someone his own size.

He doesn't back down. He steps real close, daring me to touch him. I'm not allowed to fight. He reaches around me and grabs the boy's arm, pulling him out in front of me. He holds the boy's shoulder and rounds up all the children. I follow him closely, ready to step in when I must.

He stands behind the boy, a hand on the small shoulder in front of him. "You are a most defiant slave," he says casually.

"It's my nature to defend the innocent. And fight evil." Inwardly I cringe at the dramatic declaration.

The guard nods at someone and I'm forced down to my knees, a firm hand on my left shoulder. I glare defiantly up at the guard.

"You will speak no more," he orders, releasing the boy.

"Go to Hell."

He snaps the boy's neck. His little body falls dead weight to the floor in front of me, his lifeless eyes open and staring back at me.

Too stunned to react. Too horrified to move. Charlie's face staring back at me, my greatest failure haunting me. I scramble to the body, pulling him against my chest, rocking him silently. It isn't Charlie but it may as well have been. I killed him. My own stubbornness killed him. The guard…

I glance up at the guard with such hatred I think I might burst at the seams and spew fire. The glint in my eye must have scared him because he falters, taking a step back.

I don't say a word.

Jack O'Neill doesn't speak anymore. He doesn't fight.

If he did, others would die, and he can't handle that. It's his duty to protect the others. It's who he is. Defender of the innocent, defender of freedom, defender of all that is good. That's why he's called the Guardian.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Jack tells the story in 3rd person for a while, you can draw your own conclusions as to why.

Chapter 4

Nobody talks to him. There's nothing to say. The man doesn't speak.

Nothing else has changed though. He still throws his body between the victim and assailant, good and evil. He takes it quietly, afraid that the smallest whimper could be mistaken for a word. He doesn't cry out at the pain. He doesn't fight off his attackers.

He doesn't rest.

He's been like that for years, now. The others don't know how he does it. He shouldn't have the strength to stand, yet every day he gets up and does his work, helping others who are too sick or tired or hungry to get through the day. He takes care of the sick. He treats the wounded. He shares what little food he has with the children and with those who sleep through the meal.

He knows and cares for everyone.

And they do nothing in return.

They may share their food with him when he misses the meal because he's been beaten unconscious or is too sick to move, and they may treat the lacerations he can't reach on his back, but they do nothing to ease his burden. They have learned nothing from him. He's been trying to tell them for years.

It's about survival. For them, it's getting through the day alive. You do what you must to keep your body nourished and functional. There's no long term plan. They don't care how they live, just as long as they continue breathing.

For him it's about getting home and being able to live with himself when he finally gets out of there. Because he is going to get out of there. This is just a step along the way, a very tall step, one which he must climb alone, without a safety net.

In his heart, he is a good man. He is a killer, yes, an assassin, perhaps, but a good man nonetheless. He does the right thing, whether the others think so or not. He is decent, and kind, and good in a place that does not tolerate such humanity. And so he is an outcast. And nobody listens.

Because he cannot speak with words. And in this place, this Hell, his actions have no meaning. He is one man whispering in a crowded room, he is only one man.

On the outside, he does not stand out. There is nothing special about his appearance that would target him as someone different. He is older than the rest, his face is lined with years of hardship and suffering, some of which he had before he came to this place. His silver hair has turned to white. His upper body is ravaged by old scars and new cuts, and there's hardly a fraction of skin left untouched from his shoulders to his waist. He conceals this with an old tattered shirt, his clothes like all the others, a bit more worn, more dirty, more ripped. His shirt does not protect him from the whip, but it hides his condition from the others. No different from the others.

And yet he has a presence. His eyes are not lifeless, they still hold the glint of freedom, because he is getting out of here someday. Dead or alive. All that matters is what he does along the way. For there is really only one thing in this Universe which we can control: whether we are good or evil. And he is good, so he helps the others.

And they do not listen to his silent words.

Sometimes they find him staring at nothing as though there is someone there. They think he's crazy, he's finally lost it. He interacts with the nothing, shaking his head, turning away from it, hiding himself from it. Sometimes he almost smiles, with only his eyes. His mouth moves only to eat.

He doesn't cringe at the pain anymore. He almost doesn't feel it. The scars on his back, his chest, his arms protect him from the worst of it, and he can stand unperturbed as they lash him repeatedly, trying to evoke some reaction. He gives them none but apathy. He does not bother to fall to the ground and protect himself anymore. He stands tall, ever defiant, his miserably emaciated body revealing his cracked rib after the last beating, his broken fingers, his poor health. He should not be so strong, and yet, he never falters, he never stumbles.

He never rests.

His work is never done. It will never be over. He clings to his hope of freedom, and he survives, and he helps the others. It's all he can do. It's all he ever does. There is nothing for him but hope. Hope and humanity.

Hope and Carter.

SJSJSJSJSJ

It's the winter season, and it's cold. Not Minnesota cold, just cold enough that a single blanket isn't really sufficient to combat the chill. He gathers everyone together to conserve body heat and they find the wisdom of working together to survive. He sleeps at the edge, not bothering to cover himself with a blanket. The cold doesn't seem to bother him. He welcomes it every year.

He sits up and stares at nothing again. Those who are nearby watch his expression change from his typical blank mask to one of determination. He glances around shrewdly at the guards, thoughtfully, then with a silent stealth that belies his aged and tattered body he approaches the cliff wall.

He begins to climb. The others who have seen him sit up in alarm but make no move to give him up to the guards. They watch his steady progress as he works his way up skillfully, awed by his strength of will which alone must have allowed him to get so far.

He's going to make it.

"Hey!"

One of the guards spots him when he is fifty meters up. A handgun is fired, sending a spray of bullets and debris against the rock walls. One bullet rips through the silent man's thigh and his foot gives up its grip on the rock wall. He dangles painfully by his arms, struggling to regain a foothold as his right leg hangs uselessly.

Then he continues his ascent. The others stand up to watch his progress, overwhelmed by his desire for freedom.

"Stop, or I'll shoot the others."

The man stops. He ducks his head and swings around to look down at them all, clinging to the wall. He waves a hand, telling them he is coming down, and slowly and painfully he makes his descent. His grip gives in the last three meters and he crashes to the ground, twisting his knee beneath him.

He sits there on the ground, his face expressionless but for his eyes screaming his pain. He carefully removes his shirt and rips a piece off the bottom, wrapping it tightly around his leg just over the bullet wound. A clean through and through. When he is done he leans his head back against the rock wall tiredly, taking deep breaths as he fights the pain.

"You did the right thing, sir."

Her words float to him from afar, like a whisper on the breeze. Sometimes doing the right thing sucks.

He doesn't know what possessed him to make a break for it after so long. It just felt right. He could have sworn he felt the presence of his friends nearby, calling him home, showing him the way. They were there with him.

"You try that again and we'll kill the children." The guard threatens.

He doesn't bother to acknowledge the threat. He's too tired. Of everything. He just wants to sleep.

He feels a blanket being tucked around him and he opens his eyes as a cup of water is held to his lips. He lets the woman pour the water down his throat and submits to their grateful hands as they carry him to the warmth of the group, stretching him out on his back.

They pool their water together and use it to clean his wound, pouring some over his torn and bloody fingers and bandaging him up as best they can with any available scraps of cloth.

They work together in silence, not knowing what to say, knowing they owe him for his sacrifice, not because he could have gotten away but because he changed everything for them.

He gave them hope.

He has sacrificed his freedom to save their lives and knowing he would do that for them, that the man who fought so hard to be free would willingly give himself up, gave them hope.

If he was getting out he was taking them with him. And he was getting out.

Eventually.

SJSJSJSJSJ

The next couple years go by quickly and life is good. Relatively speaking. Carter would be proud.

They're finally listening to the old man and his message. The General is a leader again, and they would follow him to the ends of the earth. No longer are they an isolated bunch of family units, fending for their own. They become a community, working together to help each other. Fathers protect their sons and women, strangers become friends, friends help each other, and all are united by one man's dream, an idea, a hope that he would be free.

It has taken him a long time to recover. The bullet itself had caused some serious damage and the fall hadn't helped matters. It had taken nearly two months to be able to put his weight on it, and another month to take even a few steps.

The others help him. Whenever he stands someone drops whatever they are doing and offers him a shoulder to lean on. He accepts their help graciously, understanding what it means for them to offer.

And now, two years later, his walk is marred by a heavy limp. He has just as much strength as the others, he can stand and walk as long as the others, it just hurts. He keeps as much of his small weight off of it as he can, favoring it heavily, so if his shockingly white hair doesn't set him apart immediately, the excruciatingly painful limp does.

But he never says a word.

SJSJSJSJSJ

Death is not uncommon in the camps, but it is still a tragedy every time. A mining accident had resulted in the death of a man and woman, a couple, parents of twins, a boy and a girl.

He had witnessed their birth, had helped in their delivery, and even though he knew what life awaited them, he had smiled at the two perfect little children.

Their mother had been pregnant when she arrived, delivering her babies just weeks later. He had given her a large share of his food, far too much, really, and he had paid for it, but seeing the two perfect children in her arms was worth it.

But now she is gone and her four-year old children are left alone. He finds them sobbing in each others arms over the dead bodies of their parents. He waves at a nearby woman to cover the bodies with a blanket and she immediately complies. He kneels down beside the children and pulls them against his chest, offering them what comfort he can give.

They are his shadow from then on, and he becomes a father again. He swears he won't fail this time. These children will never be hurt, they will never know the pain of torture.

He teaches them games. Tic-tac-toe. It takes a while for them to understand but eventually they are beating him. Patty cake. They like that one. He encourages them to talk with others, to learn to communicate. He sits with them for hours, watches them sleep as they curl up against his bony sides, their little heads tucked up against his chest. He loves them.

Carter sits with them sometimes. She gazes at her loving CO as he dotes on the small children. She reminds him of simple children's games, and smiles with him as they watch the Twins sleep. She tells him to come home, that his children need a mother. He agrees.

And one year later he gets his chance.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Warning: attempted rape, disturbing images. It's dark, but it gets better.

Chapter 5

The Twins are doing well. They have been sick and he feared the worst but they pull through after one nerve-wracking week of chills and fever.

He needs a break. He's been waiting on them hand and foot, forcing water down their aching throats, wrapping them in blankets, rocking them to sleep. The guards have left them alone, if he isn't stirring up trouble they're happy.

He stands up to stretch his legs, and gets one of the women to look after the children for him. She sits beside them, weaving a blanket, humming softly, soothingly.

He walks the cavern aimlessly, enjoying the brief moment of sunshine they get down there, when he hears the muffled screams. He enters the small passageway of one of the smaller caves hurriedly and what he sees disgusts him to the core.

Without any hesitation, with absolutely no regret, he wraps his hands around the guard and snaps his neck, throwing him off the naked girl beneath him, and not two seconds later he pulls the handgun from the dead guard's belt and shoots the other guard in the chest, the one who has been watching and laughing.

Knowing that both men are instantly dead, he pulls his shirt off and covers the girl who is sobbing hysterically. He pulls up her pants carefully that are tangled at her feet, allowing her to finish the job as he turns away.

He knows he got there just in time, but she has already been put through more than she should ever have to endure. He moves over to the man who would have watched, and enjoyed, her rape, and takes his gun, tucking it into his waistband, giving the dead guard a good kick in the head to relieve his anger.

She stops crying and he turns back to her, looking into her eyes reassuringly. She nods her head and he helps her to her feet. She is strong, resilient. She will be fine. She runs off to her parents.

She is no more than ten years old.

He feels a wave of anger like he has never felt before. Looking down at the weapon in his hand he knows what he has to do. He had fought back and killed, and the others would be punished for it. He can not allow this. He can only hope the others are ready, that they will finally help him. He knows that much has changed in the last few years, and he is confident they are ready for a rebellion. It has been a long time coming.

He stands tall, and biting back the bile that threatens from the scene he has witnessed and from what he is about to do, he walks out to the main cavern, standing at the very center, defenseless, open, visible. An easy target.

There are six guards in the cavern, and he waits until they are all in his line of sight. There will be no casualties on his part. He raises the gun and watches the look of horror spread across the face of the guard as realization dawns that he is about to die.

He pulls the trigger and the man goes down. By the time he hits the floor the second guard is flying backwards from the impact of the second bullet. The third reaches for his gun but he is hit before he even touches the holster.

He pulls the second weapon from his waist to hit the fourth as he simultaneously takes out the fifth. The sixth gets off a single shot, clipping him from behind in the left shoulder, spinning him around and dropping him to the floor. He raises both hands and fires, sending the last man to purgatory.

Silence reigns.

They all stare around at the carnage he has brought, forgetting for the moment that he has been shot. He slowly struggles to his feet, his left hand hanging limp at his side.

Hearing the commotion, the other guards rush into the cavern but even as he fires at them, dropping them one after another, the other prisoners are at his side, taking the weapons from the deceased guards and joining him in defeating the guards. Their victory is swift and one-sided, and he knows it would have been a different story if they hadn't joined him in the end. He would have gone down fighting, but he would have been outnumbered and overcome.

But the others have rebelled alongside him, and only together, have they defeated their enemy.

He counts the number of bodies around him, knowing that there will be nobody else coming for them. His people are safe.

He looks up the cliff wall, his eyes searching for the top. He drops his weapons, letting them clatter to the ground as they make contact with the rocky dirt floor. All eyes turn to him. He nods his head at the cliff.

They are free. He has won their freedom.

It all seems so easy. If they had just listened to him years ago…

He falls to the ground unconscious, the blood from his shoulder seeping down his back, pooling on the ground beneath him.

SJSJSJSJSJ

When he wakes up he sees the smiling faces of the Twins. "Father, we are free!" They exclaim together.

It wasn't a dream. He can really go home. He pulls the children into a one-armed hug, burrowing his head into the girl's neck. He has never heard a more beautiful sound than their declaration of freedom.

A woman approaches him. "Three of our strongest climbed the rock face as you once did. They have sent down a rope. They will pull you out. We will bring the children up with us."

As she speaks she ties a rope around his waist, situating him in a makeshift harness. She tugs three times on the rope and before he really knows what is happening he is pulled from his feet and begins ascending the cliff side. He waves at the Twins reassuringly, pointing up to tell them he will be waiting.

He helps as much as he can, pulling himself up with his good arm to take some of the weight off the rope for those who are pulling him. Not that he weighs that much. He wouldn't be surprised if he tipped the scales at less than 100 pounds.

Waiting hands greet him at the surface and he is pulled up over the edge. The men smile at him and clap his back, indicating the free, open sky. And they hug him. He bites back the pain that causes in his shoulder, allowing them to show their gratitude and excitement.

They don't seem to care that he is a killer. Nobody does. His actions are justified in their eyes, those men deserved their fate. They accept that. So he does, too. Because his people are free.

The Twins are pulled up next. They cling to each other excitedly and when they are pulled onto solid ground by their silent father they wrap their arms around him and point at the sky and around at the lovely green trees and grass, which they have never before seen.

They wait until every last one of the former prisoners is pulled up. There is a moment of cheerful celebration at their victory before the old, tired General takes each of his adopted children by a hand and together they walk off to the horizon, followed by a ragtag bunch of underfed, overworked, joyous free people.

The town isn't that far, but it seems they are walking forever. Each step is agony, but it also brings him one step closer to home. He is going home.

They walk into the town like a conquering army with the silent General at the head. The villagers crowd around them curiously, filling the town square. The General looks around disdainfully, recognizing the clothes his people have made.

Then a man who seems to be the town leader comes forth, but when his eyes land on the leader of the ragtag entourage he freezes in sheer panic.

From behind his back, tucked into the waist band of his tattered pants, the General pulls a gun and aims it at the leader's head. He walks straight toward the evil man who over a decade ago had ended a little boy's life to silence him.

The village leader lunges to duck behind a nearby woman and a shot rings out. There are screams from some of the villagers but nobody moves. The General stands alone in the center of town, his head bowed. Then slowly he limps up to the man's body where it has fallen and fires another shot into his heart. Those who are nearby flinch but don't move.

He stares down at the corpse then glances around at the people. He checks the weapon, unloading the bullets and lets them fall to the ground. Then he tosses the gun carelessly at the man's feet and walks away, limping back to the Twins who run up to hug him.

One of the men steps forward to be the voice of the prisoners. "We come in peace," he declares, and a small, ironic smile graces the lips of the General as he turns back to the villagers. "We do not wish to harm you. That man was evil and deserved a fate much worse. He killed a child to silence this man. He beat many others. He has been served justice."

The man explains who they are, where they have been, what has been done to them. He asks them for their kindness, for a chance to start a new life with them, free of injustice and inhumanity. He is eloquent and emotional, and brutally honest.

A woman from the crowd steps forward and looks into the young man's eyes, seeing the sincerity of his words. She holds out her hand to welcome them. "You are most welcome in my home," she declares.

And the villagers warmly accept the former slaves into their lives, sharing their food and shelter graciously with the beleaguered humans. Everything has happened so fast, his people are still in a state of shock, but they know about survival, so they accept everything that is offered so freely.

Nobody notices the General slip away, dragging the corpse of the dead man carelessly behind him. Nobody except the Twins.

"Father!" the boy shouts after him. "Are you coming back?"

He shakes his head at the boy. Jack O'Neill is going home. After he disposes of this pitiful excuse for a human being.

The children walk ahead of him solemnly, leading the way back to the abyss, where they hurl the body over the edge to the site of its sins. Then the trio walk hand in hand wherever the path may lead them, sleeping when they are tired, eating when they are hungry and can find something to eat, searching for a way home.

Searching for the Stargate.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: This could have gone so many ways, but this is what I came up with. Actually, the whole concept for this story was started with a different outcome I wrote for Jack returning to the SGC. It's a great oneshot, but it wouldn't fit in this story. I may post it separately, if there's any interest. Review and let me know.

-Bixata

Chapter 6

It rises from the ground like a magnificent beast and I fall to my knees, praising the ground on which I stand for granting me this mercy. It's beautiful, and overwhelmingly real. I run up to it to touch it reverently, this Ancient artifact that had changed my life so drastically, had pulled me from death's doorstep after Charlie had died. This beautiful technological wonder that will take me home.

If I had an IDC. Can't get home without the code.

I run to the DHD and roam my hands over it equally as reverent to it as the Stargate itself. The Twins follow me curiously. I wrack my brain for an address, any address that will allow me to get in contact with Earth, that will have a GDO or a radio to send a code through. That doesn't have an iris that will splatter us like bugs on a windshield.

I try our fallback site. This was the planet we would 'Gate to when we had lost our GDOs. There had been a small base there with emergency supplies, including GDOs and radios. I hope it's still there. A lot can change in…however many years it's been.

I put in the address.

The Stargate spins, and locks, and the blue splash of the unstable vortex of the wormhole whooshes out until it settles like a shimmering blue puddle within the 'Gate.

The children jump in alarm, but I take their hands reassuringly and gently pull them toward the 'Gate. We stop before the 'wall of water' and I look down, smiling confidently, letting them know it will be okay. Their tiny hands tighten around mine, and together we step through the Stargate.

Feels just like I remember. Exhilarating. Especially since we come out okay on the other side and I therefore have the ability to think at all.

The planet is deserted like it had been a few years before I was captured when we first set the site up. There is a small shelter where the equipment is stored and I lead the kids there. Rummaging through the shelves I find a functional radio but not much else. GDO wouldn't have worked anyway, since my IDC was probably locked out soon after I disappeared.

Unfortunately, my speaking voice isn't exactly up to par at the moment, so I can't really speak over the radio.

I limp over to the DHD, take a deep breath, and input the familiar coordinates for Earth. It locks, and I let out my breath, realizing I am only a few steps away from home.

I'm so freaking excited I'm afraid I'll pee my pants.

I struggle with the radio in my hands, sending out a message in Morse Code, giving my location and requesting clearance. My heart practically jumps out of my chest with every beat.

A voice comes over the speaker and my heart soars. "This is Colonel Carter, do you read?"

I signal yes. Frantically.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

'JACK ONEILL MINNESOTA NOT KANSAS'

Silence on the other end, then a timid, "General?"

'GET ME HOME CARTER'

My heart is dancing at the sound of her voice. Really. Little jigs with twirling and skipping.

"Sir? Oh my God, you're alive?"

I can't help myself. 'DUH'

"Are you…are you okay?"

I hesitate. 'NO'

"Are you injured, sir?"

I can hear the tension in her voice, the disbelief, the skepticism that this is all a trick, but also the hope that it isn't. 'YES'

"We're getting clearance for you now, sir. Just hang on a moment."

'NO RUSH' I reply as I sit down on the steps, playing with the radio in my hands because I feel like I have to be doing something.

"What are you doing?" The girl asks curiously, watching me push the button on the device in my hand. Her voice carries over the speaker to the other end.

"Sir? Is someone with you?"

'2 KIDS'

"We heard her voice. Why aren't you talking to us?" I can hear the suspicion and fear in her voice.

'I CANT'

"General?"

'I CANT TALK'

There's a burst of static over the air, then, "I'm sorry, sir, we're going to have to send a MALP through to check on your situation."

I sigh, knowing I shouldn't be disappointed. They're just covering their bases. But I just want to come home. 'DONT LOOK GOOD'

"Where are you hurt?"

'JUST SAYING. GOT SHOT'

"Is it serious?"

I'm not really sure anymore, what constitutes as serious. 'HAD WORSE'

"General?"

I can hear the genuine concern in her voice. 'YES'

"Why can't you talk?"

'JUST CANT. HOME NOW'

"Sir, we're getting the MALP ready as we speak."

'ME & 2 KIDS'

"Yes sir, the MALP will verify that and we'll bring you home. What's your condition?"

'HUNGRY'

I can imagine her laughing at that. She won't be laughing when she sees us.

"Father, where is that voice coming from?" The boy asks.

I hold up the radio and point back at the Stargate.

"It's coming from the other side? Can we go through again?"

"No!" Carter shouts over the radio as I grab his hand, vigorously shaking my head with a panicked look. "It isn't safe to come through right now." Carter explains. "You and General O'Neill will have to wait until we can verify who you are."

"Who's General O'Neill?"

I swear Carter's voice wavers a bit. "Your father."

"That's his name? General O'Neill?"

"You…You don't know his name?"

"Nobody did. He hasn't spoken in years. Our father said it was because he was protecting us."

"General O'Neill isn't your father?"

Is that relief in her voice?

"No, our parents died in the mines."

There is silence a moment. "Sir, where have you been?"

I don't answer immediately. I don't know what to tell her. I look up at the Twins who are watching me with curiosity and concern. I finally respond. 'HELL'

"General." Her voice is decidedly shaky.

"MALP NOW CARTER'

"Yes sir. It's almost ready. We're shutting down the 'Gate now, sir."

'WAIT' I signal.

"Sir?"

'REALLY ME. DONT LOOK TOO HARD'

I turn off the radio before she can respond. Moments later the Stargate disengages. I stand up to get a safe distance away, pulling the kids with me. We wait until the inner ring spins and the Chevrons light up. Seconds later the Stargate activates and the familiar figure of the MALP rolls through, frightening the children. I hold their shoulders reassuringly, pulling the girl back against my leg and she turns her scared face into my thigh, clutching the material of my pants. The boy moves closer to his sister.

I kneel down, turning them to look at me. My calm expression seems to soothe them and they take my hands as we face the monstrous beast together.

"General?" Her voice comes from the MALP and the children jump, ducking behind me. I roll my eyes and try to pull them back out, and by turning my back reveal the recent gunshot wound to my shoulder, visible through the tattered shirt.

Her voice hitches emotionally as she declares, "General, you're clear to come through. Just signal us after you dial the 'Gate."

I wave my thanks and the 'Gate shuts down.

This time I'm really going home. And nothing is going to stop me. I dial home one last time.

"Where are we going?" The boy asks as he takes my hand in his.

I smile down at him and mouth the words 'Home.' We step through the Stargate together.

SJSJSJSJSJ

Even though I know what awaits us on the other side, I don't expect my instinctive reaction upon emerging and finding all these weapons aimed at me.

I very nearly panic.

I want to push the kids down to the ground and shield them. Instead, I manage to pull them behind me protectively, holding them so they don't try to run back through the wormhole, and face the guns bravely.

Then I see her.

She is standing at the base of the ramp and looking up at me with a sense of wonder. And fear. She takes in my condition and I can see the tears forming in her eyes, whether from happiness that I'm back or the thought of anyone enduring what we have obviously been through I have no idea. But even crying she is stunning.

The doors open, startling us and in walks a man I know quite well: Daniel Jackson. He stares at me like I'm one of his ancient rocks. "Jack? It's really you? We though you were dead. Stand down!" He orders and the SFs lower their weapons.

I'm startled by his authoritative presence but hide it well. I relax now that there are no bullets aimed at my children.

"You want to come down from there?" he asks, amused, but visibly anxious.

I lead the kids down the ramp and my former teammates stare down at my leg that I'm favoring.

A medical team rushes in and even I jump away in alarm. The children drop to the ground, covering their faces and curling up on their sides like I've taught them when they feel threatened.

I glare at the new arrivals, despite knowing they've done no wrong, and drop to my knees to convince the kids everything is okay. They peek at me through their hands, obviously wondering why I'm not shielding them with my body.

I pull their small hands away from their faces and they watch me carefully. I look over my shoulder at Carter. She has a friendly face. They'll trust her. I beckon her forward and she comes a bit timidly. Grabbing her hand, I pull her down to the floor with me, placing her warm, gentle hand on each child's shoulder to reassure them these are good people who won't hurt them.

Before I know what has happened she is in my arms, wrapped in a tight embrace for which I didn't know I had the strength, her arms holding me just as tight, her tears splashing down on my shoulder, my face burrowed against her neck.

I have no idea who initiated it. If I were to find the tapes recording my grand return I probably couldn't tell anyway. It seems to be a mutual decision, since neither of us are letting go.

"Father?"

I pull them into the hug with us. You come home after more than a decade in Hell and you'd be emotional, too.

Eventually we separate and I feel extremely embarrassed by my appearance. It's a wonder they can recognize me at all. I look terrible, barely a human being, and you don't really realize that when you're surrounded by other non-human humans. But we are around healthy-looking people now and the state of all three of us is shockingly apparent.

"Jack?" Daniel's voice and the use of my name startles me. "We should get you to the infirmary. Sam, go with them, I'll be there shortly."

I have no idea what possesses me to do it, but I pull the younger man into a hug. If I look like this, no way am I going to keep up my tough guy image. I pat him on the back, in a very manly way, I think, and release him to follow Carter and my kids to get all fixed up.

There's a gurney waiting for me and I hop on, pulling the kids up with me and holding them tight. Then very dramatically I point my finger out the door, indicating the direction I wish my chariot to be directed, and with a small chuckle from Daniel, we disappear through the halls of the SGC.

I have my children, I have Daniel and real Carter, and I'm really home.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I wrote this story before I saw seasons 9 and 10, so the Asgard are still alive because I'm too lazy to write them out of it. They have a significant part later in the story. Oh, and like I could really forget Teal'c. -Bixata

Chapter 7

Two days later I realize I don't have a house anymore. It was sold years ago. I don't have any money, I don't have a job. All I've got is two frightened kids who've never known anything but Hell.

I've been begging for them to take us to the surface, but they don't understand. We're 28 floors underground. We're in a deep canyon, albeit one with doors and ceilings. But we're right back where we started. I want my kids to know freedom, and here we are locked up again. They don't understand, because I can't tell them.

I've been trying to speak again, but I can't make any sound. Been too long. Most of the time I just forget to try.

Carter hasn't left my side since I got here, and I can't help but wonder if she's the real one or my imaginary Carter.

She's real.

Imaginary Carter's eyes sparkle. She glows. Her smile lights up the room. This Carter is as worn down as me. She looks like she's been through Hell. Maybe she really was there with me.

I'm pouting like a kid now. Doc says I'm not well enough to leave the infirmary, especially not so soon after the surgery on my shoulder. That's a load of crap. I've been doing just fine without her for twelve years, according to an emotional Carter, and there's no way I am suddenly unable to go for a short walk in the sunshine.

Doc isn't afraid to hurt me. She's poking me with needles from the start. I hate needles. It's not a phobia, it's not the pain, it's what's inside them, or what they take from me. My experiences in Iraq gave me this aversion.

So when she's poking me full of holes she doesn't quite realize what she is doing to me, because I've been told not to fight. I could have knocked her block off. And now that she's denying my freedom, in my messed up mind she's as bad as the guards.

But nobody knows because I don't talk and I don't fight. I just hate.

The kids are with me on the bed now, playing rock, paper, scissors. Carter's watching them, and she's smiling. It's not the same, but she almost looks like I remember. I get her attention and point up, indicating my desire to go topside.

"I'm sorry, sir, not until Doctor Taylor clears you."

I look down at the floor angrily and she's alarmed by the sheer hatred she sees in me.

The boy looks up at me. "We aren't free, are we?" he asks sadly and the pain in Carter's face as she realizes what they've been doing to us is shocking. She looks like she's going to cry.

I can do nothing for her, because the kid is right and I'm too pissed off to care what the others think. I pull the little boy against my chest, glaring at the walls around me.

Carter disappears.

A couple hours later and she's back with Daniel. They seem to be sneaking around. They motion us to keep quiet and help us off the bed, leading us from the infirmary to the elevators. Then I understand what they're doing and I love them. They're breaking us out. They're giving us freedom. The kids are slightly unnerved by the secrecy but I smile at them and they try to smile back.

The elevator reaches the top, and Daniel signs us all out and we walk outside, past the gate and the gravel road until we reach the outside of the complex. I fall to the grass, practically inhaling it, and flop onto my back, smiling up at the sky.

The kids are in awe of their surroundings. They sit down beside me in a state of wonder, running their fingers through the short, soft grass, looking around at everything in sight.

"We're free?" The boys asks, whispering, afraid to disturb the sanctity of the moment.

I nod my head, smiling at them, and they pounce on me, crying happily into my shoulder, wrapping their little arms around me tightly. I hug them back, laughing silently, too happy to care that I really have no place to go. We could live in a box and I'd call it swell.

We've been up here for hours now, and I've nearly fallen asleep on the grass. It's perfect. Too good to be true.

"Sir."

Darn it.

"Jack, we should get you back," Daniel says.

"I though you said his name was General O'Neill." The girl comments, confused.

"General Jack O'Neill." Daniel explains. "And 'sir' is just a title of respect."

"We called him Guardian." The boy states proudly.

"Because he's your father?" Daniel asks.

Boy looks confused. "No, everybody called him that. Except the guards."

I pretend to be asleep. I don't want to deal with this.

"Why would you call him Guardian?"

I know Daniel is just trying to get information. They need to know where I've been all this time, and with me not talking the kids are their best bet.

"He wouldn't let anybody get hurt by the guards. He gave up his freedom to protect us all."

"Gave up his freedom?"

"They say he could have escaped. He climbed the rock and he could have made it, but they threatened to kill us if he didn't stop. So he came back. That's when he hurt his leg."

"Do you know why he doesn't talk?"

"It was long before we were born. They said that the man he killed had killed a little boy to make him be silent. But our parents never told us about that."

"The man he killed?"

"An evil man. They all wanted to hurt us, but Guardian wouldn't let them, and he killed them."

"Guardian killed them? The guards?"

"To save us. The others helped."

I can't pretend anymore. I roll over onto my side, curl up, hating myself for being a killer but not really caring those men are dead. They had it coming. I don't care that I killed them, I care that I'm a killer.

But that's just part of being a soldier. We go to Hell so that others may be free. Sometimes I wish I was a farmer.

"Sir, we should get you back."

I shake my head. I don't want to go back.

"Sir."

I bury my head in my arm. I don't want to go back.

"Sam, I don't think the SGC is the best place for them. He said Jack climbed the rock. They may have been in a pit of some kind. Underground in the mines."

"Oh God. No wonder. Maybe the Academy Hospital is a better place."

I don't want a hospital. I want to go home.

"I'll let Dr. Taylor know," Daniel says as he climbs to his feet. "She's going to tan my hide for sneaking them out anyway. They can stay here until I get a ride for them."

"I'll stay with them."

Daniel walks away and it is just the four of us. I turn to face Carter, deciding there are some things I need to know. I tap my forehead.

She smiles. "Teal'c is fine, sir. He's with Rya'c and Bratac on Chulak. He's due for a visit any day now. We'll let him know you're back."

I point up at the sky and hold my hands up to my eyes as bug-eyed circles, staring wide-eyed. She laughs, and I love her laugh. The glint is back in her eyes, that lovely sparkle when she's smiling, and I can't help but hope that I put it there.

"Thor is good too, sir. I'm sure he'll be excited to know his favorite human is still alive."

I roll my eyes. Thor getting excited about anything would probably put me in a state of shock. I want to ask her how Cassie is, but I'm not sure how to charade that. I sign her name in sign language instead, my fingers moving stiffly.

Her face positively lights up and I've never seen her more proud. "She's a mother. Has a beautiful baby boy. He's the sweetest little thing."

After my eyes properly reset after the shock of finding out the little girl I helped raised got herself pregnant I remember that she is in fact old enough for that to be an okay thing, and I can't stop smiling. I sit up excitedly and wave my arms at her frantically, pointing down at her butt where I know she keeps her wallet.

She doesn't quite understand, so I scramble towards her, smiling so she isn't frightened, and deftly grab the wallet out of her pocket. She's startled by the rather intimate contact of my hands on her butt, and springs to her feet before she realizes what I've done. When she does, she panics.

"No, sir, don't you dare."

Too late. I flip open the wallet looking for the pictures I know must be in there.

I see my face looking back at me. My chest swells with love and pride at being that important to her, and I'm not uncomfortable at all with my status as first picture. I flip past it and there he is, Cassie's little boy. And he really is beautiful. Handsome and healthy, like a baby should be.

I show the picture to the kids and they really don't know why it's so exciting but they smile with me. I flip through the rest of the pictures and find SG-1, the original that is, then Janet and Cassie, Carter and Jacob, and finally her brother Mark and his family.

I take the picture of Cassie's baby out and gleefully hand her the wallet. She frowns at my theft but I can see her amusement.

"His name is Jack," she informs me.

I don't know what to feel about that. I want to be annoyed that Cassie would pin that burden on her kid, but deep down I'm touched that I had that big an effect on her. So I smile down at little Jack.

My face hurts from all the smiling but I can't stop. I imagine it's a rather horrifying sight, my cheeks sunken, my skin pale, the scar from the first few months still clearly visible. Like seeing a damaged, grinning skeleton. I don't care. I haven't been this happy in years.

Daniel comes back a while later, his head bowed guiltily as Dr. Taylor walks beside him, frowning at me. "Sir, your condition is very serious. You all need medical treatment."

I want to shout at her. Hate and loathing courses through me at the sight of her despite my better judgment that I know she's trying to help. It's just reflex. She hurt me, and I associate pain with evil. I hate evil.

They can see it in my face. In all of us. The Twins cower around the Doc, they cuddle up against my side where I can protect them quickly.

"Is she going to hurt us again?" Girl asks. "I thought we were free."

The shock registers on Dr. Taylor's face and she looks positively ashamed and heart-broken. She looks like she could cry. I probably am not helping much by glaring at her.

"Dr. Taylor, maybe it's best if we take care of this." Daniel reasons sympathetically. "We'll get them to the hospital, they'll keep you apprised of their condition."

She practically runs away and a huge sense of relief washes over me. The kids loosen their hold and sit beside me.

They put us in an ambulance and take us to the hospital. Scares the kids half to death, but I hold them reassuringly and Carter talks to them soothingly until we arrive.

You don't get a lot of emaciation in Colorado Springs. To say that our condition shocks the medical staff would be an understatement. And that is with my shirt on. I've been given a pair of BDUs but they are way too big, even for me who likes my clothes loose-fitting. The shirt threatens to falls off my shoulders. The belt on my pants can't get small enough and I end up tying it in a knot at the front. They still threaten to slip off my non-existent hips.

The kids are better off. Someone has gone out and bought them outfits that more of less fit. Unaccustomed to the clingy garments they pull and tug at their shirts to get them comfortable, but at least they're the right size.

We are all barefoot. I've tried to put on the shoes I'm given but they are so uncomfortable and restricting that I hide them in a closet and nothing more is about it. The kids have never worn shoes so they would surely feel it is some kind of foot-binding torture.

They put us in the same room and we are immediately put on the liquid diet. Why they don't just give us food, I don't know, I'm no doctor. Probably an excuse to feel important and necessary. Sending us home to eat a decent meal would be a blow to their dignity. These kids haven't seen a doctor their whole lives and they're alive. I've been on my own for twelve years, been shot and beaten and whipped and starved and I held my own.

Who do these guys think they are?

Carter stays with us. I can't help but think she isn't real. She's always there when I wake up. She never seems to sleep. I wonder what her boss thinks about her new obsession. I wonder who's in charge. If I didn't know any better I'd swear it was Daniel.

I learn a few days later that it is. Can you believe it? The man sure has changed from the bumbling geek he was when we met, yet somehow he's always stuck to his core beliefs. I'm proud of him.

Anyway, they've kept us here a few days and I'm bored. I want to get out of here. They let us walk the yard a couple hours a day, but they never let us do anything else. I want to go home. I know, I don't have a home, but like I said, a box would be a great home compared to our previous accommodations.

They give me a cane. There was too much damage to my leg, and never giving it the proper time to heal, there's really nothing they can do for it. So I have a cane. Since my left shoulder is currently in a sling I have to hold the cane in my right hand, which means I lean on it heavily when I walk, using it as a replacement limb and nearly my entire weight goes on that arm.

I think I'm depressed. I don't care about our walks anymore. I don't listen to Carter and Daniel when they talk. I don't think about going home. I don't have a home. I don't do anything. I don't smile anymore. We're prisoners again.

And then Teal'c arrives.

I hop off that bed so quick you'd think I was on fire. I'm not sure why I'm so glad to see him…Well, sure he's my friend and I haven't seen him in years, so of course I'm glad to see him. What I mean is I don't know why I am so overwhelmed with joy by his presence.

We do our manly hug thing, slapping each other on the back, although he is decidedly gentle for such a huge man. I'm engulfed by his presence, I practically disappear standing next to him.

"It is good to see you alive again, O'Neill."

Teal'c is a rock. He's the calm in a storm, a dependable pillar of strength and knowing he's here I can relax a little. Because he's a guardian, too.

He seems unfazed by my lack of communication. Warriors do not need words. Not that I always abided to that particular warrior code. I was a chatterbox. Not that I ever said anything important, I just needed people to know I was there. Don't ask me why. Sometimes it's to draw the attention away from others, to focus the enemy on me so I can protect my team. But in this case, when you talk people talk back and that is how you know it's real. I don't know if Carter is real because I can't talk to her. And she doesn't talk to me.

But Teal'c is real because he never said much anyway. He's like me. His past is dark like mine, but he's a good person trying to the right thing to free his people. Which he did, like me. And he's a father, like me. He's a family man, he has family, something that Carter and Daniel had lost until SG-1. Despite our differences, SG-1 was family and Teal'c was the uniting factor, the final member who made us click. So maybe now that he's here, things will go back to normal.

They let me walk alone with him. I know they're watching me like hawks but it's no longer in my power to care.

I feel small next to my friend. Physically. This in not a statement regarding my psychological perception of my presence. Nor is it a declaration of my manhood, so back off. I'm just saying that Teal'c is a very large person and I'm a pole with arms and legs. We're probably an amusing sight. Well, I am probably a horrifying sight but when you disregard the scars and wounds of my ordeal, the contrast of our appearance for two people so similar is just plain ironic.

He talks about his son. Teal'c is a grandfather, and a proud one at that. Probably quite smitten with the kid. I hand him the picture of Cassie's baby that I've been carrying around with me and he gives me a huge smile.

"Jack Davidson," he declares and I file away the last name for future reference.

I take the picture back and tuck it in my shirt pocket by my heart (this is not a sentimental gesture. It just fits there nicely).

He talks to me about hockey. Despite not being of Earth he's a huge sports enthusiast and pays closer attention than me to how the teams are doing. Considers them warriors. Who am I to tell him it's just a game?

After a while I start to worry about my kids. I don't want to leave them alone for too long, although Carter and Daniel are with them. Honestly, I think I just want Teal'c to get to know them. They're my kids, for crying out loud, they should know they're Uncle Teal'c. Teal'c will be the one to understand how much they mean to me, Carter too. Everyone knows I love kids, but I consider the Twins to be mine. They're my children. My son and daughter. I've been helping to raise them from birth, I teach them right and wrong, I protect them, I feed them. They're mine. Just because the law and biology says they aren't doesn't make it so. Lay says I'm dead anyway. The law is wrong.

I say this because I'm afraid they'll be taken away from me. Face it, I'm not exactly father material on paper. I'm 65 years old, mute, former special ops, I have a dead son for which I blame myself and, oh yeah, I've been imprisoned and tortured for the last twelve years. And it wasn't exactly a first for me. I bet all you shrinks are just drooling to get your hands on me.

There's also the being single bit. Kids need a mother. I'm not the mothering kind, no matter what you've heard about my mother-hen tendencies. And then there's not exactly too many women jumping at the chance to be with a guy like me. And there's really only one I would want anyway. Unfortunately, we're both a bit too stubborn to bring it up with each other.

That's what friends are for.

It's quite obvious that Daniel has had a little chat with my former 2IC. First thing she does is offer me and the kids her house. Of course, it's all very logical. She has a big house. The three of us shouldn't be alone. I have no money. I don't talk. I can't drive. All of my other friends/acquaintances think I'm dead. Her house is close to the base and the hospital and the three of us could be in need of emergency medical attention at some point in the future.

She could have stopped at the simple invitation. Like I could ever turn her down. For the kids, of course.

They let us out a few days later, officially kicked out, given a clean bill of health. As long as we get checked up every day and monitor our eating and don't stress ourselves too much and take our vitamins and…you get the picture. The whole team is there. My old SG-1. Moral support, I guess.

They don't talk about work. I guess they figure I don't want to know. I don't often care about those things. I'm a man of action. I know what I need to know, but you clutter my brain with all that other garbage and I'm dysfunctional. Some people think too much. Carter thinks too much. I prefer to stop and smell the daisies. Actually, I prefer fishing. Relaxation. I could go for some of that right now. Fishing in Minnesota, with my too lovely kids and Carter. Preferably the real one.

The kids don't know what to do when we enter her house. They've never been in one. Carter's house is neat and ordered and rather sparse, but even I'm taken in by the luxuries I see. Like the couch. Nice and soft. Comfy-looking. And the rug. Perfect sleeping mat. And the window, to let in the sunlight. And a sink, to get water whenever we want.

I show the Twins the sink first. I don't want them getting dehydrated, and they need to be independent with things like that. Then I show them the bathroom. They learned about these at the base after a rather awkward moment. Then Carter shows us to the guest bedroom.

We stare down at the bed. Or rather, I do, while the kids stare forward at it. They aren't sure what it's for, since it's bigger than the ones at the hospital. So I show them by crawling right in the center and flopping out on my back with a huge contented, though silent, sigh. They push at the edges a bit, feeling how soft it is, then they follow me up and curl up on either side of me.

We're asleep within minutes. I'm sure Carter was amused.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: There have been a couple requests for what Sam was thinking when Jack came back, so I'm considering writing a sequel with the same story told from her point of view. The Guardian's Wife, or something like that. As it is, since this is all Jack's POV, he can't really share Sam's thoughts with you. Let me know what you think (unless you already have).

Bixata

Chapter 8

We don't awaken until the next morning. Nearly eighteen hours, a record for me when you don't consider comas, head trauma, meds, and Asgard cloning experiments.

Must have been the bed. Or maybe it was the feeling of actually being home, of being safe and secure and comfortable with those I loved.

Although I'm pretty sure it was the bed.

The twins wake up with me, they usually do, and we silently creep down the hall to the living room. Teal'c is sleeping on the couch and his eyes open when he senses our approach. He sits up to greet us but doesn't say anything. He seems to understand we like it quiet. I lead them to the kitchen and look for something to give them to eat.

If Carter were in here I'd be glaring at her now. Her cupboard is practically bare. Her refrigerator isn't much better. We settle on a piece of bread and I diligently tear it into thirds and give us each a share. We sit down on the couch with Teal'c, munching slowly. The Twins look around at their surroundings carefully, wondering what is the purpose of everything. They're curious. It isn't their survival instinct kicking in, they really are just curious, like any normal kid should be.

When we finish our bread I lead them outside. It's early summer and the sun is just rising. They stare in awe at the beautiful colors in the sky and we sit down together in the grass of her lawn. They lean against me to keep warm but already the morning is pleasant and not too chilly at all.

It's perfect.

Every once in a while a car goes by and they cling to my shirt until it's gone. A woman jogs by trying to ignore us as I watch her carefully for any deviation in her pattern that might suggest an attack. Probably thinks I'm a perverted old man watching her like that with two kids in my arms. The kids watch her too so maybe she doesn't.

People don't run in Hell. Waste of energy. The Twins have never seen a human move so fast under their own power. They don't ask about it though. They don't think to ask questions because I can't answer them. I wish I could. I've been trying to speak but it doesn't work. I don't remember how. It's not like riding a bike. Well, actually, it's like trying to ride a bike after a twelve-year coma. You just don't have the strength for it, muscle atrophy and all that.

Most of the time I just forget to try.

People are up and moving now. I'm surprised Carter hasn't come out to check on us yet. Teal'c is keeping watch through the window, I don't know why he hasn't joined us. Probably because we aren't doing anything, just sitting here like spring daisies, loving our freedom.

I'd love to show the kids a good time. The park, the zoo, the movies. The forest. Nice nature walk would do them some good. Doc won't let us. We don't have the strength, he says. If we die on his watch it'll be from boredom, because he just wants us to sit still and eat. Not that I mind eating.

We're prisoners of our own bodies now.

Screw it, we're going for a walk.

I stand up and they follow suit silently. I walk back in the house and grab a bottle of water to take with us. I don't know where we're going, but we're not just going to sit around victims of our past. My kids are going to know how to have fun, how to be free. They're going to learn to ask questions.

I knock loudly on Carter's door so she doesn't wake up and panic when she realizes we're gone. I hear her moving around and when she opens the door I can't help but grin at her very adorable bed-head. She frowns at me and brushes at her hair with her fingers, looking so endearing as she pouts at being wakened from what was obviously a deep sleep.

I motion that we're going for a walk and she asks me to wait so she can join us. I figured she would, that's why I woke her up. I could have just left a note.

We set off down the street, going nowhere in particular, the boy holding my hand, the girl clutching Teal'c's. She knows she's safer with him, he can protect her. It's a funny sight to see those two. His arm is bigger than her, but he's just a great big teddy bear with children. She takes three or four steps to keep up with him, but our pace is pretty slow, mostly on my account. The cane slows me down.

We've walked about a mile before the Twins get too tired to continue comfortably, and Teal'c and Carter pick up their tiny frames to carry them back to the house. I kind of wish there was someone else to carry me, but I'm sure I'm far too dignified to allow it if it were actually offered. We sit down on Carter's lawn comfortably, and the Twins start playing with the grass, pulling it up and running their small hands through it.

I swear I hear them giggle. Better music than the greatest of operas. I take a piece of grass and run it along Girl's bare feet. There it is again, a little bubble in her throat. She pulls her feet away from me but I chase after them with my blade of grass, and she scurries behind her brother, smiling over his shoulder at me. Boy stands up brave and tall, grinning defiantly at me and I back off, bowing to his dominance.

We don't really know where to go from there. By all rights they should be attacking me now, but they don't know that.

We stay outside on her lawn all day. Carter has the good sense to provide sunscreen for our pale complexions, something I would have never remembered to do. We toss a ball around, giving ourselves something to do without getting too much 'stress'.

One of the neighbors, an elderly woman…a woman about my age…has been watching us all day, checking every so often to see if we are still out here, doing pretty much nothing. Finally, she can't take it anymore and she comes over to talk. I point her out to the kids so they won't be startled.

"Hey Sam."

"Linda. How are you?" Carter responds in a friendly manner. They must know each other reasonably well.

"Oh, I'm fine. Is this your family?"

I wish.

"This is…uh, he's a friend of mine. We used to work together, but he's been away for a while. General Jack O'Neill." She introduces me.

I wave from the ground, not bothering to get up or even smile.

"General. Are these your kids?" She smiles sweetly at the Twins.

"They're adopted. He's their guardian."

I smile a bit at that. Very cute, Carter.

"They're very sweet. I'm sorry, I've been spying on you all day. They're so well-behaved. I have grandchildren about their age and they're little terrors."

The Twins look to me curiously, not understanding. I nod at the woman, indicating they should ask her.

"What are little terrors?" Girl asks.

"Oh, they're just always getting into trouble. Running around all day, never sitting still."

"They don't get hurt?"

"Oh sure, they're falling down all the time, getting scraped knees, scratched elbows, the works. Just part of having fun I guess."

That isn't exactly what he meant, but she doesn't know that. They're more baffled than before.

"They want to be hurt?"

"No, dear, they just like having fun. The pain is worth it."

"It is?" Girl asks, wrinkling her nose in disbelief.

"To them it is."

Boy frowns. "I don't think it is. Do they help people?"

"Huh? No, not really."

"Pain is only worth it if you help someone." Boy states wisely.

The woman, Linda, stares down at the boy, surprised by his sincerity and conviction. "Maybe you're right," she concedes.

"Father gets hurt when he helps people. He doesn't do it for fun." Girl adds her own wisdom.

The woman glances over at me and I think she's only just now putting two and two together to get the inconceivable fifteen. "I'm sorry, General, I didn't realize…" she trails off, unable to finish the thought.

"Father doesn't talk." Girl explains when I make no move to respond. "He wasn't allowed."

"He wasn't allowed to talk?" she asks incredulously.

They shake their heads.

"Why not?" She can't help herself from asking, but I can see she regrets it.

"He's the Guardian," they answer together.

They look at each other and start laughing. And THAT is the sweetest sound I have ever heard. After everything they've been through, they know how to laugh, at something so simple as saying the exact same thing at the same time. They're going to be okay.

And knowing that, so am I.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It's been a week since we moved in with Carter. The Twins have become more confident, they no longer feel the need to cling to me every second of the day. I'm proud of them. They're strong kids. They're even beginning to look healthy which is a huge relief. Soon they may have the strength to play with other kids, to learn to have fun. They'll soon know the pleasures of cake.

You may be wondering where Carter fits into all this. After all, I do finally marry her and you could probably tell from the start that I'm madly in love with her. The truth is, I'm pretty messed up right at this point of my return. I don't quite know how to adjust. Same thing happened when I got back from Iraq, but my ex-wife, God bless her, got me through it eventually.

This is a bit different. Iraq was about saving my own hide. They didn't threaten others to keep me compliant. But the last twelve years I've been protecting others, my whole life is really about that, but taken to such extremes I really don't know how to do anything else right now.

I still see imaginary Carter.

The kids are outside with Teal'c and Daniel, probably tossing a ball around. I love them to death but a guy's got to have some personal space every once in a while. So I'm hiding inside, sitting on the floor, my back to the wall, arms on my knees. This is the most comfortable position for me when I'm on the floor. I don't know why I don't take the couch or recliner or even just the kitchen chair. Somehow the floor is comforting. It's familiar.

Carter's next to me, appearing out of nowhere. She's watching me carefully, concerned by my behavior, looking just like she always did the last twelve years. I gaze at her affectionately, loving my imaginary Carter. She's always been there for me.

Then she reaches over and touches my hand.

Staring down at our hands in shock, believing I've somehow pushed myself beyond the brink of insanity to complete mental breakdown, imagining that my dreams have somehow come to life, I shut my eyes, count to three, and open them again. She's still there and her hand hasn't moved, though she's looking concerned and embarrassed.

I reach over to touch her face and I know she's real. I won't be needing imaginary Carter anymore. She's letting me touch to know that she's real.

Maybe I was wrong at the beginning. Maybe this is a romance.

I pull my hand from her face but I'm still holding her hand. It's nice to know she's there.

"You okay, sir?"

I let go of her hand. I've been dead for twelve years and she's calling me 'sir'. I'm not even Air Force anymore. I'm not her CO. Maybe I'm not even her friend. Just her former boss, someone to pity for his rough life. Come to think of it, Daniel probably forced her to take us in.

I wish I didn't care about her so much. I want to be angry, I want her to know how much she has hurt me, I want her to know what I've sacrifice for her. But I could never do that to her. I could never hurt her like that, not after everything she's given me.

I lean my head back against the wall tiredly, and she can sense my frustration.

"Sir?"

Guess she can't sense exactly why I'm frustrated.

'Jack.' I mouth my name to her, the name I've wanted her to say for years. She only says it when I'm dying and she's begging me to live. Please say it.

"Jack."

She says it so easily, without hesitation, like she's been doing it for years. Maybe she has. She actually sounds delighted to say it. I watch her expression and she's smiling at me. Beautiful as ever.

I wonder if I love this woman. I know I loved her before, and I'll always love her, but I can't help but think this is a different person. Like some alternate reality. Same but different. Which is quite ironic because in most of the other alternate realities we've come in contact with the two of us are either engaged or married. But that's another story, one I can't discuss.

The point I'm trying to make is that a lot has changed. I don't know what she's been through these last twelve years. I wasn't there for her and I had promised her I always would be. I don't know what she expects from me. I need her friendship above all, it's been the one constant in my life. And I don't want to lose that. So I don't ask for anything more.

Just like always.

Except this time we're just Jack and Sam.

I think I'll go for a walk. I invite her to join me, which she does, and it's just the two of us, walking hand in hand around the neighborhood. And then out to the countryside, and somehow we've walked the four miles to my old house without realizing it.

I miss my house. When I moved to Washington I just couldn't bring myself to sell the place, I'd always hoped to come back someday. Ah well.

We sit down together next to the driveway, admiring the place I called home. It isn't home anymore. Earth in general is.

The current owners notice us and come outside curiously. "Can we help you?" the man asks.

Carter forgets I don't talk and it takes her a moment to realize that she should. "Oh, no, we're just…admiring your house. He used to live here."

"Really?" The woman looks at me suspiciously. "Must have been a long time ago. We've been here nearly ten years."

"He was the previous owner."

"Oh? We were told he'd been killed in action, some Air Force General."

Carter shrugs, looking embarrassed. "We were mistaken. He was just missing."

Humans are a curious race, but sometimes they just don't know when to leave things alone. Trust me, I know. "My God. How long were you missing?" The woman asks me.

"He got back a few weeks ago."

Now they blatantly stare at me, trying unsuccessfully not to. "Would you like to come inside?" The woman offers finally, smiling awkwardly.

I nod my head and they lead us into my old home. It's not that different, really. The pictures aren't mine, my favorite chair is gone, but it's still a cozy old country-style house. Without invitation I head to my old bedroom. They're startled, of course, probably don't care for an old dead man to be nosing around their bedroom, but I need to check something. Maybe nobody ever noticed.

I drop to the floor beside the bed and pry up the loose floorboard, revealing an old tin lunchbox. I pull it out and reveal a stack of cash and a gun underneath. Don't ask. I pull those out too, careful to hold the gun in a non-threatening manner before setting it on the floor away from me. I replace the floorboards.

"I guess it really was your house." The woman laughs and I try to smile at her as I clutch the box to my chest protectively. I want to open it, but these are private memories I don't care to share with strangers.

"We should be getting back, Jack."

I grin at her, and she's smiling. Funny how one name can do that to you. I point at the gun, looking at the people who bought my house, asking for permission to take it.

"Go ahead."

It's not loaded anyway. Carter helps me to my feet as I manage my armful of treasures. I almost pale at the thought of the walk back, I'm already exhausted. She seems to sense this.

"You okay to walk back?"

Of course I'd never admit that I wasn't. I nod.

I wonder why she even bothered to ask when she scolds me with a "Jack," knowing that I'm lying. We walk to the front door and I shake hands gratefully with the owners of my house. And I wish I could kick their butts out of my home and move in with children.

"Daniel can come pick us up." Carter suggests.

"You need a ride?" the man offers.

Carter smiles sheepishly. "If you don't mind."

"Where to?"

She gives them the address and we hop in their car.

"So he has a place to stay?" the woman asks once we're on our way.

"He and the kids are staying with me until they're fully recovered and we find a place for them."

Why am I suddenly hoping I never fully recover?

"The kids?"

"He brought them back with him. They're real sweethearts."

I smile at her praise of them.

"So you two are related? Father, daughter?"

Carter blushes over at me apologetically. "No, we're good friends. We used to work together."

"Your boss?"

"Commanding officer."

"So…can I ask where he's been?"

"Sorry, it's classified."

"Oh, no, I understand. It's just that if he's been missing for over ten years…Where was he?"

Have people always been this forward? Whatever happened to subtlety? Or minding your own business?

Carter looks at me nervously, and I shrug. I don't care what she tells them. "POW." She answers, because it's the closest to the truth.

The man glances at me in the rear view mirror, the woman twists in her seat. I look out the window. I love trees. Universal constant, according to Carter. Where there's oxygen, there's generally trees. Sometimes they're just far away, or funny-looking. Love those purple trees.

They're apologizing now. Great big pity fest. I'd lighten the mood if I could speak, but they just pity me even more because I don't talk. Probably assume it's psychological. Maybe it is.

We park outside Carter's house and I see the Twins rolling a ball on the ground between each other. I take my belongings and get out of the car, shaking the man's hand gratefully for allowing me into their home. The Twins get up to greet me, waiting until I'm well away from the strangers to cling to my legs like Velcro.

Carter stays behind to chat with them, probably trying to avoid commenting on my misery while being polite. I sit down with the Twins and open my box of memories.

Inside is a picture of Charlie. I miss my son. I stare down at his likeness, wishing he were really here. I always do that. I wonder if he misses me. I wonder if I ought to inform his mother that I'm alive. Not that I'm really a part of her life anymore, even before she thought I died, but she'd probably like to know. If she has to learn from a friend of a friend, or the ten-o'clock news if they ever hear word of my story, she'll be royally…mad at me.

Mental note: contact ex-wife.

Behind Charlie is SG-1. The Twins are looking over my shoulder and they giggle when they see me that age. Not that I was young, just younger. Without the scar and with a few dozen more pounds and a genuine smile on my face. I flip through the rest of the pictures and set them aside.

There's not much else in the box. A medal Charlie won in his first year of baseball. My old wedding ring, there was nowhere else to put it when I got rid of the old cigar box I used to keep my memories alive in. A few letters from family, friends. From Charlie.

An engagement ring.

I wasn't meant to be with Samantha Carter in this reality. Everything possible has kept us apart. Age, the Air Force, intergalactic warfare, imminent threats to Earth, death. I was never meant to have a second chance. I screwed up with Charlie, I didn't deserve a second chance at happiness. But I could try.

It was supposed to be my last mission. I was going to retire…again. The brass weren't too happy about that, but I don't belong behind a desk in Washington. I belong in the action, in the thick of it. If I'm not there then I don't belong at all.

At least that's the reason I gave them.

The real reason was decidedly more personal. I couldn't be there for Carter if I was in Washington. I couldn't watch her six, or comfort her when she was hurt, or when Daniel was presumed dead for the gazillionth time.

She'd been badly injured. Almost didn't pull through but she made it, and I wasn't there for her. So I made a decision. Regs weren't going to stop me anymore. Even if she just wanted a friend that was good enough for me. But I'm a sentimental old coot, and knowing that in all those other universes we were together I figured there was some hope for us. So I bought the ring and hid it away, hoping that someday she'd say yes.

Then the universe went and kicked me in the butt and it was never meant to be.

I think I've paid my dues. I've been to Hell more times than I've been happy. Shouldn't there be some cosmic balance?

I put everything back in the box and close it before Carter joins us. With my luck, she'll never see this ring I bought for her so long ago. Maybe I ought to just give it to her. It's a nice ring, perfect for her, I think. It could be just a friendly gift from her former co-worker for loaning her house to an old dead man and his two non-existent, nameless children. Something to remember me.

I'm too much of a sap for that. As long as I've got it there's still hope. Although with the kids I doubt we'll be getting much alone time, not that I'd trade them for it. And then there's always the me not talking bit. Could be an impediment to any conversations we hope to have on the topic.

I take the box inside and set it on the dresser. If she wants to take a look that's fine with me. I know I'm leaving temptation for her like that, Pandora's Box maybe, but if she does open it nothing bad will happen. Unless she assumes the ring was meant for someone else and kicks us out of her home. She would never do that, though. That's something I would do.

A few days later and the Twins feel safe enough without me around all the time to venture off with Carter, Daniel or Teal'c, asking questions and talking about me and their parents, and happily sharing everything they've learned since I brought them here. I almost miss their constant, clingy presence, but it's nice to have some time to myself.

After another week Daniel comes over to tell me Washington is calling. They need my report if nothing else, but I can't give it. I tell myself it's because I can't talk, that I can't hold a pencil long enough because of my arthritic, multi-fractured fingers, and can't type for the same reason. It's the truth, but not all of it. I just don't want to remember. I get enough of that every time I take a step, every time I see the condition of the children, every time I see Carter. I really don't want to remember.

Nobody realizes I've been having flashbacks. They come up when I'm alone or at night while the others sleep. I don't lash out or scream, so nobody notices, except perhaps the Twins when I'm suddenly shielding them as they lie safe in their bed. By the time I realize what I'm doing they've either gone back to sleep, comforted by my presence, or gotten out of bed to begin the day, thinking I'm their wake-up call.

The worst occurs in front of everyone. We are all sitting in the living room watching the children when the young boy whose neck had been broken suddenly appears in front of me, looking scared and hurt. I close my eyes to make him go away, but he's still there when I reopen them. I stand up and leave the room, something my friends are getting used to, but he follows me to the bedroom.

I sit on the bed and hold my head in my hands, trying to make him go away, but he won't leave. And as I look at him his neck snaps from invisible hands, his eyes are dull and lifeless, and he crashes silently to the floor. I turn away, curl up on the bed hiding my face but the image remains. I can't make it go away, even with my eyes shut tight.

That was the worst, but there was nobody to help me through it because I have run away. I will always be alone…

There is a timid knock at the door which I recognize as Carter's. I don't acknowledge her, I'm busy hiding from the boy who keeps dying before my eyes. She comes in and sees me curled up on the bed, covering my eyes and she is at my side within a fraction of a second, touching my shoulder gently and pulling my hands from my face.

"Jack," she says softly and her voice brings me back. The boy vanishes and there is just the two of us. I stare at her face, focusing on that, knowing she is real. I know because she is holding my hand.

"Are you okay?" she asks and of course I nod. It's a reflex really. Nobody wants the truth when they ask that, they want to be reassured. "Jack," she scolds. Maybe she really does want the truth.

I glare at her. I don't really know why, it just seems like the thing to do. She slowly pulls away from me and at the absence of her touch on my hand I freak out. There's really no other word for it. I lose my mind, go crazy, and driven by madness I reach out for her and grab her hand tightly. It's my anchor to reality and I'm not letting go.

She sits on the bed beside me, allowing me to hold her hand. She smiles at me reassuringly, letting me know she won't leave. I think I take her by surprise when I pull her to lie down next to me and wrap my arm around her, hugging her back to my chest. She doesn't fight, though. She settles back into my arms, holding my hand at her chest, interlacing our fingers. She sighs a little, and I can barely make out her whispered words.

"I love you, Jack."

I don't think she meant to say it out loud, but I'm glad she did. I lift my head to get a better angle to study her face. Her eyes are closed and she seems tired, exhausted. She isn't at all fazed by her declaration, although the effect it has on me is earth-shattering.

Even when I sit up she doesn't move, as though she's afraid it's all a dream. She finally turns when I tap her shoulder, looking up at me with hopeful eyes. God, I love her. I want to tell her. I want her to know.

So I hug her. And for us, that's all we need. In the ten years we knew each other I could count on one hand the number of times we've embraced. Okay, two hands, but the events of our first two years don't count. The first time we'd been infected by an alien virus and…she hates it when I tell this story. Let's just say her primitive mind made a pass at me and we ended up in a wrestling match before I could drag her to the infirmary.

The second time was in Antarctica and we had to share body heat. Nothing drastic, I assure you. I was bleeding internally with cracked ribs and a broken leg and she was keeping me alive.

The third time I'd just escaped a fate worse than death in time to save her life. And I was cold. We were both pretty shaken up and I was too grateful to realize we weren't exactly conducting ourselves like proper officers. To tell you the truth, I'd have reacted the same way if she had been the General.

There were other times too, generally after life and death situations were resolved, nothing more than a friend offering support when needed. But after three years, our rare embraces were always meant to comfort her. The loss of Janet, her father, her own brush with death.

But now, with our arms around one another, we're helping each other. She hadn't taken my death easily, I realize. Given our working relationship she wouldn't have been allowed to mourn me too much in public. She would have to go on like nothing was wrong, that perhaps she missed her friend, but nothing more. Even though in the end we weren't in the same chain of command and a relationship would have been permitted, she would never have allowed herself to show that our friendship was a weakness. She would remain strong.

Myself, I would have thrown it in and left. The only reason I stayed there so long was for her, to keep her safe. Despite the mask I use to hide my feelings I'm not that good at pretending there's nothing wrong. If there's a problem, I deal with it. So I would have packed my bags and left.

I'm glad she didn't, I know it must have been hard. I'm not saying she had it worse than me. I hate it when people say that, try to make it seem like the people left behind have it the worse end of the deal. That's crap. Don't belittle the things I've been through by saying that the people I left behind, the people who thought I was dead and had to deal with that and move on with their lives, had it worse. I had to deal with the same uncertainties, wondering if my friends were still alive back home, if they were waiting for me. Plus there's the torture and starvation bit.

Anyway, Carter and I are hugging and there is nowhere else I'd rather be. Eventually we lay back on the bed and fall asleep, still holding each other. I don't care what you think about that, a 65-year old General falling asleep with his 50-year old former 2IC. I'm beyond caring what the world thinks of us. I need her now, and it is the most natural thing for us to help each other out.

The kids come in some time later and although they are surprised to find us together, they don't let it bother them and climb onto the bed with us, forcing their way between us where they can be fully protected. When I wake up it's with a pair of kids in my arms, looking into the smiling, amused face of Samantha Carter.

I smile back.

TBC

* * *

Author's Note: I know Jack says he sold his house, in season 9, but when I wrote this I didn't know that. And this was important to the story, so live with it. Smile!

And jeez, of course the kids need names, just hold your horses. All in due time. Love the reviews and advice, you guys are awesome.

Bixata


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

I hate Washington. I've always hated it. My last two years on Earth were spent here, doing a job I hated but needed to be done, a job that took me from my friends, from my life. A job that kept me behind a desk.

So I hate Washington. Washington is about formalities and ceremony and protocol and servitude. There's no fun here. No humor. And I hate it.

I didn't really agree to this. One minute I'm at home with my kids, the next we're whisked away to D.C. to formalize my report and determine my military status. They don't really want the children but there is no way in Hell I will leave them behind.

The flight is quite an experience for them, but they handle it well. Isn't nearly as fun as traveling through the Stargate, and it gets boring after a while. Carter comes with us, officially to escort us, through we both understand her real motivations. She's worried about me.

I'd like to tell you that I came back from my twelve years of exile and everything went back to normal, but I'd be lying. Psychologically, I'm not ready for something like this but we both have our orders. I'm not really fine, like they all believe due to my excellent acting abilities. Only Carter knows the truth, and even she has begun to cover for me, afraid to subject me to the shrinks and psychological profiling that would follow if they only knew how bad I am. Carter and the Twins keep me grounded for the most part.

There is a limo waiting for us when we get off the plane. I have no idea where we're going because I hadn't been paying attention when Daniel told me my schedule and who I'd be seeing. I was busy watching a little girl get beaten and raped. This particular event had never happened, which confused me. I didn't even recognize the girl, and I knew it wasn't real so I didn't react to it. I tried to focus on Carter's face, pushing the unwanted image aside. It hurt not to be able to help her, but even if I tried I'd just be hurting myself. You can't save them all, and if you try you'd go mad with the ones you can't help. I know, I've tried.

I space out during our ride to wherever we're going. Not black out, just space out. I do that a lot when I'm bored. Passes the time more quickly. Little something I mastered in Iraq not to go insane.

By the time I realize we have stopped Carter and the Twins have already climbed out of the car and I have to hurry to keep them from worrying. Stepping out I blink back the bright sunlight, wishing I had a pair of sunglasses to protect my sensitive eyes, and take the boy's hand in my left as Carter holds the girl's.

Carter somehow leads the way into the building even though she walks just behind me, a symbol of respect for my rank to let everyone know that even though I'm wearing civilian clothes and look as frail as a house of cards, I am still a military officer.

The little boy holding my hand doesn't exactly reinforce that image. Especially when he clings to my leg as we wait for our security check. Then when the little girl comes over it's history. I pick her up and hold her in my right arm against my hip, something I wouldn't have had the strength for weeks ago, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Yep, Carter's efforts are in vain.

A major comes out to escort us and can't hide his surprise. He's been told he'd be escorting a Major General no doubt, not a coat hangar for kids.

He introduces himself to Carter since she is in uniform, and from her fleeting glance at me he realizes his mistake. He visibly pales but recovers, declaring it an honor to meet me and asking us to come with him.

Did I mention I hate Washington? I hate meetings, too. We're led to a small, windowless room where six men and two women are waiting for us, all sharply dressed in Air Force Class A's.

I feel decidedly underdressed in my baggy jeans and plain black long-sleeved shirt. Honestly, it's Carter's shirt, but don't read into that. It's simple and it fits and it hides my scars. I don't get a kick out of wearing women's clothing. It's standard issue anyway, man or woman. And don't read into why I'm being so defensive, either.

There are only two empty chairs at the table, they obviously weren't expecting to have the kids around for this interrogation. I set the girl down on her feet and push her gently over to Carter.

Nobody has said anything yet, either too shocked by my appearance or the reality that they're looking at a dead man. Not like it hasn't happened before in the Service.

"General O'Neill, it's good to see you again. Welcome back."

The man who greets me was a Colonel when I left. I recognize everyone in the room, they probably wanted to make sure I didn't feel threatened by strangers, and only one of them had been of higher rank than me when I left. This puts the rest of them in the awkward position of addressing their former superior as an equal, or in one case, a subordinate.

I don't really care. Rank never meant much to me. But just so there are no misconceptions, I'm not really the wild cannon I'm made out to be. I can follow orders, and even show respect to my superiors if I actually respect them. I just have this little issue with speaking my mind. And sometimes getting slapped for it, figuratively speaking. Although there was that one time…

I take the empty seat at the head of the table, and pull the boy up onto my lap, surprising them further since I had not been offered the seat and they really don't want the kids to stay. This is my way of taking control. A glance over at Carter and she follows my lead, taking her seat and helping the little girl into her lap. Somehow, she knows it's an order, even though I'm not her commanding officer and she probably would have done it anyway.

"Uh, General, I think the children would be more comfortable waiting outside. We'll keep a close eye on them."

I look at the General, who still outranks me, indifferently, but I don't release my hold on the boy, who has buried his face against my chest.

Sam helpfully, and needlessly, interprets my silent gaze. "General O'Neill would prefer that the children remain with him."

"Sorry, General, but with the things we need to discuss it isn't appropriate to keep them around."

If the things they want to discuss are that bad then I don't want to be here either. I stand up, holding the boy and walk to the door, waiting for Carter to let the girl down to follow me.

"General!"

I stop, knowing they wouldn't really let me go, but at least they know I'm serious about the kids.

"The children can stay, as long as they aren't in the way."

I suddenly hate that man. You can't think about children like that. My distaste for him is evident in my glare as I sit back down, and he doesn't say anything again.

"General…Jack, we know it's been difficult for you but we need to know what happened and where you've been for the last twelve years."

"Father doesn't talk." Boy answers helpfully from my lap.

"We know he doesn't. We'd like you to write as much as you can to answer our questions."

I raise my eyebrows at that, looking down at the computer they set in front of me.

Carter stifles a smile, knowing my computer illiteracy. She also knows that my fingers don't bend very much, they're stiff and clumsy from years of battle stress, broken fingers that were never set, and arthritis, so I won't be winning any secretary of the year awards.

Doing a fine show of hunt and peck I type in the letters, 'OK'.

They stare at me, and then at each other. I try not to smirk. Hey, it's been twelve years, it's not like this is riding a bike. I wonder if I can still ride a bike. Motorcycle, that is. Maybe Carter will take me out on hers for a spin.

They don't look happy, but they begin their interroga-…ahem, debriefing.

"Do you know what planet you were on?"

Rather than typing 'no' I shake my head.

"How were you captured?"

I don't remember, so I shrug.

"General." I'm being scolded? I'm not a little kid, you bozos.

I type in, 'I don't know, I was unconscious' and turn the screen for Sam to read out loud to them. I have such a lovely voice, don't you think?

"Where were you when you first awoke?"

I stare at the man who asked the question. That's a ridiculous question, I just told him I don't know where I was. Slowly, I type an appropriate answer which Carter relates to them. 'I was being dragged behind a horse-like creature. I got up to walk behind it but was knocked out again.'

"And when you regained consciousness?"

I refrain from rolling my eyes. I don't see why this is important, it happened over a decade ago. My next answer takes a long time to put in and I can hear their frustrated sighs. I almost want to laugh at them. Don't ask the question if you don't want the answer.

'Their prison camp. Deep canyon, 200 meters, direct sun 3 hrs every 35, winter season 2 months every 25, min mid-40 F. Summer max 100 F. At escape surface grasslands, scattered forest. Settlement 20 km west of Stargate. Organized local government.'

It's all guesses, but I think they're fairly accurate. They seem quite pleased with the information I have provided, but aren't satisfied.

"What was your initial condition?"

'Dislocated shoulder, bumps and scrapes, headache.'

"No evidence of how you were captured?"

I make a point of underlining 'headache' and Carter tries not to laugh. The others ignore what is obviously sarcasm.

"How were you kept detained?"

'min 15 guards with guns, whips. No exits but to climb walls. Bad condition for that.' I never did figure out how the guards got in and out. I assume they had some kind of ship, or maybe a transporter beam like the Asgard. I don't really care anymore.

"Were you interrogated?"

I shake my head.

"They didn't ask you any questions?" A woman reiterates, disbelieving.

I shake my head again.

"What about your living conditions?"

'Rations every other day, 2 cups water a day, manual labor, mines. Sadistic bastard guards.' Carter hesitates over the last phrase, glancing down at the child in her lap, but reads all my words.

"What about the guards?"

The children hug us tighter, and I push the computer away, refusing to answer that.

"Would you like us to remove the children?"

I shake my head and hold the boy tighter. Slowly I tug the computer back my way and manage to type in a response. 'They hurt for no reason.' It was all I could type.

"They beat you without provocation?"

I shrug, though I'm impressed at how intellectual you can make 'assault' sound. 'Women and children. They thought it was fun.'

There is a collective silence at that, and they glance at the Twins in our arms.

"These children showed no evidence of physical trauma, apart from malnourishment," says one of the men, by way of proving his disbelief.

I stare at him. If they don't believe me why ask the questions? I consider leaving again, when the boy timidly speaks up. "Guardian wouldn't let them hurt us." Then he tucks his face back into my chest, afraid that he may be punished for saying that much.

"What's your name?" One of the women asks, smiling at him. Boy turns to her with a puzzled expression. I'm surprised that she doesn't already know, since Daniel and I have been over this many times.

"I don't have a name."

They all look shocked and turn to me like I've done something wrong. It isn't my fault they've never been given names. I can't speak, why would I need to call them anything? I figured it would be best if they had their own identity before being labeled by a name, one that wasn't associated with the first five years of their lives. Or something clever like that.

"Our parents didn't give us any before they died in the mines." Girl explains shyly. "Father took care of us after that."

"So who was the Guardian?" They focus on the children now, thankfully ignoring me.

Girl points at me and Boy taps my chest. "That's what the others called him." Boy explains. "Because he protected everybody."

"How did he do that?"

Girl answers this time. "When the bad people attacked he would shield us. He's cover us with his body. The others, too. They said he used to be the only one, until he came back for us and the others realized they should help."

"He came back for you?"

Boy nods and picks up the story. "We were too little to remember. But he was climbing the rock to get away and he was almost out when they threatened to kill us if he didn't come back. So he came back for us. And he was shot in the leg and couldn't walk for a long time but the others started protecting each other since he couldn't anymore."

"They threatened the two of you?"

"They threatened all of us. Mother said they always threatened him like that. She'd been told that he used to fight back until one of the women he was protecting was threatened if he fought back again. And one of the men said that the guy in the village had killed a little boy so that Guardian could never speak again, which is why he doesn't talk. But that was long before we were born, mother and father hadn't arrived yet."

They turn to me inquisitively, silently asking for verification. I nod and type in, 'Quit talking a few months in. Tried escape maybe yr 8 or 9. Kids parents died 1 yr ago.'

"And you've been raising them since then?"

I nod, hoping they will allow me to continue to do so.

"Why did you try to escape after so long?"

Why wouldn't I? 'Felt right' I answer.

"What do you mean by that?"

I shrug.

"Low threat assessment?" Someone suggests.

I shake my head and reluctantly tell the truth. 'Didn't feel alone. Like someone was waiting at the top for me.' I shrug again, and a few of them smile, thinking me sentimental.

I really don't know how else to explain it. I would have sworn I heard Carter's voice on the wind, Daniel's excited chatter about the culture, Teal'c's…well, his solemnly intoned "Indeed."

They move onto the next questions and the interrogation proceeds. The boy cradled comfortably on my lap doesn't stir, watching the proceedings with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort, probably absorbing my own feelings. He flinches when I flinch. He closes his eyes when I refuse to answer the question. And when all the Colonels and Generals and Doctors become nothing more than guards he looks up at me with wide-eyed concern that only the innocent face of a child can muster.

"Father is not well now." He surprises everyone in the room, including me, by declaring this, then stands up on my lap. He positions his small face in front of mine so I can see nothing else, shielding me from the guards. "They will not hurt you, Father. I won't let them."

I've had a lot of proud moments in my life but this one takes the cake. The guards are immediately vanquished by my brave young son, and they don't return. It's a defining moment in your life when you stand up for something, and watching the child you've helped to raise reach that point is like you own personal celebration. Fireworks and all that jazz. I swear there were trumpets blaring at this victory, this accomplishment. At five years old my son is a man, more courageous and loyal than most. And I'm damn proud to be his father.

There are no more questions. I'm too busy hugging my kids, the girl had crept over when she realized there was something wrong, to notice the meeting is adjourned. The others quietly leave the room, and now we're alone. Carter remains seated at the table, smiling over at us wistfully, as though she wants to be a part of it.

We welcome her with open arms, glad and eager to invite her into our small family, her strength and innocence enveloping us like a blanket.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: I've had an overwhelming number of requests for Sam's Point of View, so I just wanted to let you know that I'm working on it. And thank you so much for the many wonderful reviews. I've enjoyed reading them, makes me all warm inside.

-Bixata

Chapter 11

Folks in Washington never bother me again. Daniel doesn't let them once Carter informs him of our…discomfort. Requests are denied, awards misplaced, ceremonies cancelled. Thankfully I'm brought back to life, repatriated, retired, awarded my well-earned pension and veteran's and disabilities benefits. I've got good credit and insurance, fantastic free health care, and, most importantly, the legalized adoption of my two children. Boy O'Neill and Girl O'Neill until further notice. I find this quite humorous. We'll be laughing about it for years.

I have no house, no car, two adolescent children with generic appellations, and no life savings to fall back on.

There really isn't anything for me to worry about financially. I'm too high profile to slip through the cracks of government paperwork. But with two kids dependent on me, who I plan to thoroughly spoil for years to come, on my own in my condition it won't be enough.

The ironic part is that after ten years as a bachelor with no life outside of work I'd saved up quite a tidy sum of money, all of which had been usurped by the SGC to be used for refugees and families in need once I was declared killed in action. Families like the Twins and me. I'm a big fan of irony. Some of the money I've been receiving was probably my own at one time (though by now my measly account would have been used up, but I was going for symbolism here).

I have enough money to get by in the long run if I don't have such pressing needs as putting a down payment on a house. Like I said before, a box would be great but my kids deserve the best. And I'm really not all that eager to ditch Carter's.

So we stay at Carter's and it isn't long before she becomes Mother. She's so excited and proud, I don't have the heart to tell her that I became Father the day their parents died. It's the sentiment that matters, and it is comforting to know that the Twins have accepted this new life we're making for ourselves. And if Carter is happy being a part of the family then I'm not ashamed to admit that I couldn't be happier. I feel no guilt or shame for invading her home and taking over her life. I like to think we make her life better. Outside of work she doesn't seem to have one.

With Washington out of the picture and things finally settling down it's time to get busy living and not just surviving. The kids grow stronger by the day and it won't be long before they can keep up with other kids their age. They are undersize due to their malnutrition but surprisingly they are in good health otherwise, for which I have been eternally grateful.

My own recovery seems to be stinted by my pig-headed stubbornness. Age and years of physical trauma haven't been much help either. My shoulder has more or less healed from the bullet wound but the strength in that arm is severely limited. The leg is a lost cause, and the scars all over my chest, back, and arms are stretched uncomfortably tight as I gain the bulk I so sorely need.

It isn't so much painful as it uncomfortable, such that I find it difficult to fall asleep at night, even with the comfort of the kids at my side. They have refused a bed of their own, and honestly I don't think I'd sleep much without them. My very own security blanket, with four arms, four legs, and two lovely little heads.

Boy and Girl, my lovely children. I'm still laughing at that. It isn't that they lack identity or individuality or character. It takes great character to call yourself Girl O'Neill.

We're at the hospital for our weekly check-up when one of the cheerful, overly friendly volunteers comes by with stuffed teddy bears. The Twins are sitting together on the bed while I sit in a chair by the window, trying to avoid everyone. The doctors seem dismayed and stumped by my inability to speak. They make it seem more and more like a psychological problem, a thought which had occurred to me but like any good, emotionally traumatized, socially inept, stubborn, pig-headed man, I quickly dismissed it. Maybe I just don't have anything to say.

Anyway, the lovely woman comes in with her teddy bears and smiles sweetly at the Twins. They immediately hug each other, curling up on the bed and making themselves small. They're smart kids but honestly they could use some social skills. To them, a smile could mean 'I'd love to thrash you now, and I get off on it' as much as it could mean 'aren't you the sweetest thing'. Sick, I know, but the guards did smile a lot at our misery. So any new people that I haven't confirmed to be friendly are instantly bad. As an overprotective father I approve of this instinct. However, when they freak out from a cheery, elderly woman with stuffed teddy bears in her arms even I have to roll my eyes. Which I do.

The woman is quite disturbed by the cringing children but she knows better than to try to comfort them. I wave at her to stay, and move over to the bed, placing my hands on their shoulders. I reassure them with a look I have mastered for that purpose, and help them to sit up, facing the woman. They watch her warily but seem fascinated by the small figures in her arms.

"Hello." She greets them cheerfully, seeming to build her own confidence. "The doctors told me there were two wonderful children in her and I had to see for myself. Looks like they were right. I brought a gift for each of you for being so well-behaved. Your father must be very proud of you."

The Twins look over at me confused as the woman hands over the teddy bears. I nod my head toward the woman so they turn their attention back to her, accepting the stuffed animals curiously. Their confusion as to the purpose of the gift startles the woman.

"They're teddy bears," she explains. "You can play with them."

The Twins share a look that says they haven't got a clue what to do, and look to me for guidance. I honestly don't know what to do. I don't play with teddy bears. So I fake it, moving the girl's arms so that she hugs the surprisingly soft bear. The boy follows suit.

They giggle. They can be so cute it breaks your heart. Hugging their new teddy bears they are the definition of adorable.

I want a teddy bear.

The woman smiles down at my lovely children, pleased to have brought them happiness. She could have given them a stapler and evoked the same reaction, but I suppose were they clutching staplers to their chests I would have to redefine the word 'adorable'.

Because the Twins are so well-behaved most people assume they are also well-mannered. You don't learn manners in Hell, I'm sorry to say. And since I can't speak they don't know that they should thank the teddy bear lady. She obviously thinks that she deserves a thank-you. She decides to stick around, pulling a chair up alongside their bed.

"Do you like your teddy bears?"

They nod emphatically, afraid she might take them away if they don't admit it.

She smiles gently at them. "Then I think I found a good home for them. You'll take good care of them?"

I really wish she hadn't said that. The Twins can be so literal. I imagine the next fifteen years with them towing their teddy bears around, giving them baths, tucking them in at night, defending them from nightmare villains, friends laughing at their devotion to the stuffed bears.

Their emphatic nods terrorize me.

"What's your name, sweetie?" The woman asks my daughter.

Girl smiles proudly and states "O'Neill."

The woman smiles amusedly at that. "What a lovely name. And how about you, young man?"

He smiles just as proudly. "O'Neill. She's my sister."

"Oh. O'Neill is your last name." She glances over at me quickly, unable to hide her amusement that they would refer to themselves by their last name. "I'll bet your father is an O'Neill, too."

They nod, flashing their teeth in broad grins.

"What are your first names, then?"

When they excitedly reply, "Girl" and "Boy," the first time in their lives when they could introduce themselves by name, the woman's jaw drops to the floor. I raise my eyebrows at her, clearly defending their names and asking her to make something of it.

"Oh, really, well, that's…uh…nice."

She wants me to explain why I would doom my children with these names but I think it's just so darn funny that I almost don't want their names to ever change. Almost. I'm not that sadistic.

"Father thinks we should get to choose our own names." Girl explains happily, clutching her bear.

This seems to appease the woman a little. "So he calls you Boy and Girl?"

"Father doesn't speak but the dressed people needed our names so we could stay with Father."

This even confuses me, and I already know why they were given these names. I can't imagine what the woman is thinking.

"Your father doesn't speak?" She asks, looking at me. I guess that would be important to clarify before asking me to explain.

"Not since before we were born."

"So who are the dressed people?" Ooh, she's intrigued.

"We flew in the air and traveled really far. The people wore lots of clothes and had pretty colors right here." Boy places his hand over his left chest. "They asked Father lots of questions about where he had been. Daniel says they let Father keep us, but we had to have names to make it real."

"Oh, you were adopted?" They don't recognize the term. "Is he your real father?"

"He's our real father now." Girl states confidently. Did I mention I love my kids? "Mother and Father were killed in the mines, and Guardian became Father."

The Twins tell this story a lot. It seems to make them feel better, I'm not sure why. Maybe they're proud that I love them enough to take care of them. I love them way more than that, but they'll never know the extent of it until they become parents themselves.

The Twins patiently explain their current situation to the woman and it inevitably goes back to their previous life and how happy they are now with me. The woman goes through the whole range of emotions. I've seen it all before, on nearly everyone who learns of our ordeal. Sometimes I wish the Twins would stop talking about it and just move on and forget their past, but that past has made them strong, made them who they are and I wouldn't change one thing about them.

So I let them talk. It's probably a good thing that they can look back on it without fear and hatred, without the nightmares and the pain. But sometimes seeing the sympathy and uncomfortable guilt in others as the kids innocently talk about the past is annoying.

I quit paying attention to the woman a few minutes into the kid's story, turning instead to the window, looking down on the world. I don't know why this moment has stayed with me. There is nothing extraordinary or special about it. It's probably just the teddy bears. Once the woman leaves I glance at the Twins and they are excitedly exploring their new treasures, behaving as any child their age would, making them walk and 'talk' to each other. It's good to see them so well-adjusted.

Carter takes us home after our check-up, which she always does. She spends all her free time with us, in fact, she never seems to be at work. I'm beginning to wonder if she's even still involved at the SGC. I'd have expected her to be a General by now, Lord knows she's earned it. I wonder if something happened. And then I dismiss it entirely from my mind because I like having her around all the time. She's great with the kids and they love her.

Things between us seem to be at a standstill, reminding me of the months just before I was taken prisoner. There have been no repeats of that night she stayed with me and the Twins. I'm not sure who is keeping the distance. She doesn't want to push me and I don't want to hurt her, so nothing changes.

My recovery is pretty much at a standstill as well. I quit trying to talk so my communication skills are lacking and the doctors aren't much help. They finally send me to a shrink, who chats away about feelings and inadequacy and love and hate.

I promptly ignore him. I may be a head case and perhaps I'm not the best judge of my personal state of being but if there's one thing I know, it's that I'm not inadequate. I know I'm not perfect and I don't try to be. That's why I have Carter and Daniel and Teal'c, wherever I'm lacking they make up for it, brains, heart and brawn, all three of them. But even by myself I can hold my own.

So when that guy starts crying about feeling inadequate and how it's a normal human feeling when you are unable to help the situation I decide he doesn't have a clue what is wrong with me but has to justify his paycheck with a little effort.

Frankly, I think he's talking about himself.

I did help the situation, I did everything I could to help those people with what I had. I saved them from that life, I saved my children, I saved myself. I think I did a more than adequate job, given the circumstances.

I leave twenty minutes into the session. I've had bigger breakthroughs watching The Simpsons. But now I'm a troubled patient who's too headstrong and stubborn to admit I've got a problem.

I know I've got a problem. I can't speak. And I've got to listen to idiots discuss their own problems to me like I'm the Dalai Lama or something. I'm a 65 year-old mute retired General with two adopted children living in the house of my former 2IC. I'm not Socrates or Robert E. Lee or… Superman. I'm more of a Homer Simpson kind of guy. Give me beer and donuts and I'll save the world. Give me a shrink and I'll smash a chair over his head.

Not that I did. I'm just saying.

So, I'm a head case. And yet, they're letting me keep the kids. Perhaps they've realized that if they took my children away I'd go over the deep end, the world would lose all meaning and my happy meal would lack not only the fries but the coke as well. And the bun. All I'd have would be a slab of charred meat.

I'm the world's greatest Dad. I have the coffee mug to prove it. And the shirt. Somehow, I feel that if I'm not a father then I'm nobody. This may have started with Charlie. After Charlie died, I was lost, I had no purpose, no reason to be doing the things I do. I was a soldier, I fought for my country to keep my family safe. My family fell to pieces and like any coward I turned to suicide. Without a purpose, what's the point in living? I found my purpose again through a sneezy, bumbling geek, who showed me life is entirely about living. It isn't something you just give up. If life gets tough you get tough back, you start over somewhere else, and all the other old clichés. The Stargate gave me a new life, but it was the people around me who helped me to live it.

The kids are my family now, Carter, Daniel, and Teal'c my closest friends. They can get me through anything. Maybe I'll learn to speak again, maybe I won't, but it doesn't really matter to them. They get by with my sparse hand signals, the short typed messages, the stiff and clumsy sign language. They can read the expressions on my face as clearly as though I had said it aloud and written it out for them.

The Twins have never been bothered by my muteness. I think they'd be more uncomfortable if I had begun to speak right away. They have been thrust into this new world where everything is different, better. They are well-fed, pampered like royalty, loved and adored by all, warm and comforted, and free. I think the thing that keeps them grounded, that unites them between their two lives, is me. My silent presence is a constant for them, and I will always be there. That is my purpose now.

I remember a man, years after my return, ask me about the kids. We were at their soccer game, and we were winning, of course. He asked me which of the players was my grandchild. Naturally, I promptly glared at him and walked away and made a splendid show of hugging and kissing my wife until we got distracted by the game again. Where was I going with this?

Most folks in the area know who I am and the story about my kids, so by the next game the man was fully informed and apologized profusely to me. I know he wasn't trying to be insensitive or rude or something much worse, but he said something that really stuck in my mind, essentially asking me if I was really able to love my adopted children as much as I had loved my biological son.

I wanted very much to deck him in the mouth. I refrained because I have frail bones and it would have hurt me much worse than him. And Sam would have given me a good dressing down, and not in the good way.

There are no rules to love. Carter and I will testify to that. Rules and regulations can control your actions but not your heart. I loved Carter despite the regulations that said we couldn't be together, because love has no restrictions.

Nor is it a competition. I still love my ex-wife, and I always will. There's no doubt in my mind that if things had been different we could have lived our whole lives together, and had no regrets. But fate screwed with that and she's no longer an active part of my life. I don't love Sam any less because she came second. She's in my life now and that's what matters, that right now, for the rest of my life, I'll be in love with Samantha Carter-O'Neill, to the grave and beyond, always. That doesn't mean I don't love my ex-wife as well.

It's the same with the kids, however, even after over twenty years I still find it hard to talk about Charlie. So apply the same analogy to the kids yourself, and consider that I brought the Twins into this world, and raised them and cared for them as my own. As such, they were always my children, as real to me as flesh and blood. How could I love them any less?

I have included this explanation at this point in the story to convey to you all the depth of my feelings for my family, and how just their presence could save me from myself. The people responsible for my well-being were wise enough to recognize my need for emotional attachment. I've done nothing that would jeopardize the children and their upbringing. They're incredible, the way they've adjusted to this great new life.

Sometimes I'm afraid they'll realize that I'm holding them back, that they're better off without me, but they never do. They love me, not because I kept them safe in a world that hated them, but because I'm still there for them, still taking care of them, and I need them as much as they need me. More than they need me. There are probably thousands of loving, caring couples that could have taken them in and given them the life they deserved, but they chose me.

And I've never felt more honored.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

It's time to put the children in school now. September is coming and I want them to meet other children, to get out and live, to learn and play and make friends. The problem is that they don't have real names yet.

I manage to let them know they shouldn't talk about their past with strangers, especially other children. They've seen so much violence and hatred they don't understand in our society it's…inappropriate for kids their age to talk about it. Carter gives them my speech for me, which I write down for her. I let them know what is acceptable to discuss, if they wish, basic background about our relationship and such. But no violence. No starvation. I don't want them to be pitied, they should be respected for who there are, not what they've suffered and lived through.

They seem eager to meet other children. We've been to the park a lot and they always get along great with the others. But I'm worried about their names. Boy and Girl are horrible names with which to saddle your kids. I've been thinking about names we could use temporarily but try as we might all I come up with are Bart and Lisa, or Maggie. Carter would so beat me over the head with a hockey stick if I did that.

The anticipation of school is building up in all of us, me because I'm worried about them but, more significantly, because I'll be on my own while they're living it up in the classroom. I'm pretty self-centered, I guess.

It's about a week before their first day of school when the Twins come up to me while I'm dutifully watching a rerun of the Simpsons. Girl climbs up onto my lap and snuggles against my chest before sliding in next to me so Boy can sit on my other side. We do this often, so I'm not expecting the ambush.

"Father, we'd like to ask you something."

I nod quickly, slightly confused because they never ask me questions while we're alone. They usually wait for Carter in case I can't answer, or to use as a translator.

"When can we have real names?" They ask together, as though they've rehearsed.

I wave my hand at each of them invitingly and they seem to understand that they can choose whenever they want.

"I want you to name me, Father." Boy says confidently.

Girl jumps off my lap and disappears to our bedroom. She runs back with a picture in her hand, a picture of Charlie. They've never asked about the boy in the photograph, and I suspect Carter must have said something. "This was your son?" she asks, climbing back onto my lap.

I take the picture from her and nod affirmatively.

"Mother says his name was Charlie." I nod again, gazing into the face of my son. "Can I be called Charlie?"

You know those moments when you're drinking something and someone says something funny or shocking, or both, and to avoid gagging you let it fly? That didn't happen. But I imagine it would have if I had been drinking. Instead I'm coughing, which is actually a huge achievement for me because it may truly be the first noise I've successfully made that involves my throat. Needless to say I've frightened them and they hop from my lap, Boy running off to find Carter.

I didn't mean to scare them, or to offend Girl for her choice. It just took me by surprise. I'm not too hip with children's names anymore but I'm pretty sure Charlie is still a boy's name. Maybe not. Charlene, Charlize, Charlotte. It's actually a pretty cute name for a girl. I never thought about it but it does seem to fit her nicely.

I'm still coughing but I motion her back to me as I slide to my knees on the floor. She steps into my open arms and accepts my apology.

Boy runs back into the room followed closely by a worried Carter, who'd got her cell phone in hand. I smile at them reassuringly, trying to get my cough under control.

That's when I realize something is different. In the back of my mind I remember how to speak, I can feel it in my throat what it's supposed to be like. And I know I feel it now.

And for the first time in over ten years I can speak. "Charlie."

Carter's phone drops to the floor.

I start coughing again. I never realized how much talking tickles the throat. The girl pulls away from me, concerned by my apparent seizures.

"Father? Did you say something?" Boy asks, stepping closer, looking up at me.

The girl pulls back from me further so she can see my face. I think she was so concerned by my coughing that she hadn't been listening closely. "Father?"

She has light blond hair that falls across her eyes. I push aside a stray strand and smile lovingly at her. "Charlie." I repeat, and listen to myself. My voice is weak and scratchy, barely audible, but I can definitely hear the name come forth from my lips. "Charlie." I hug her again and she giggles excitedly against my chest. I hold my arm our for the boy to join us and he's soon giggling alongside his sister, laughing at me and my attempts at human speech.

I'm busy thinking of a name for him, options flying through my head, people I knew, acquaintances, names I liked. Nothing is good enough. I think about my friends and the most important people in my life. My father, Daniel, Teal'c, George Hammond, Charlie Kawalsky, Thor, Bratac. Yeah right. I glance up at Carter and I've found the perfect name.

"Jacob."

They don't understand me, but they heard my attempt and pull back to watch me carefully. I grab my son's hand and place my other hand on his shoulder.

"Jacob," I repeat and take my daughter's hand as well. "Charlie."

Carter has tears in her eyes, whether from hearing me speak or knowing that my son is named after her father, I'm unsure. But her smile is beautiful and Jacob and Charlie are happy.

Jacob O'Neill and Charlie O'Neill become their legal names, with no grand attempt at making Charlie more feminine. It's perfect the way it is. Jake and Charlie.

Daniel comes over to celebrate with us, for it is certainly a day to celebrate. My kids are no longer nameless, in fact, they are deliriously happy with their new monikers. I know they won't be changing them. And I was the first to say them, the first words I spoke were the names of my children. I'm a sentimental fool, I admit it. I can talk, who cares what I say, I can say it now.

Though not really. At this point the words I manage are like nails on a chalkboard. I'm not saying I was ever a famous tenor, or a Frank Sinatra or Mel Torme, but this is just ghastly. Not pretty at all. But I can speak and with time I know that all will be well.

TBC

Author's Note: Short and sweet, but I had to get it out. -Bixata


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

It's the day before the first day of school and Jake and Charlie are bouncing off the walls. Carter and I took them shopping to get supplies and bulk up on their wardrobe earlier. Jake loves green, Charlie loves blue, pink scares them. They hate red. Reminds them of blood.

They're registered at the school under their new official names. It' the cutest thing, when they run up to the people they've met earlier and proudly introduce themselves. I'm kind of hoping they'll get over it but for now it's good for a quiet laugh. Daniel had been tackled to the floor by their exuberance to introduce themselves properly. I think he's still seeing stars.

Anyway, Carter and I decide it will be best if their teacher knows about the Twin's history in case something comes up. We set up a meeting and bring the Twins along so they can get to know their teacher. They are still wary of strangers, and have to war with the desire to share their new names or completely avoid people.

We're late. Something comes up at the base and Carter can't get back in time. It's just a few minutes, not really that important on a grand scale, but Carter hates being late. Ever since the first time we met, when she was just a tad bit late for our first briefing and she walks in all full of herself and her feminist beliefs and…well, that's another story. So we were late.

Carter apologizes profusely the second we walk in. Carter always walks just behind me, a military habit I'll never understand. We're in a school, for crying out loud, and we were never that big on military decorum at the SGC. Or at least on SG-1. So she's just behind me holding Charlie's hand and I'm up front with Jacob.

Their teacher's name is Mrs. R, because honestly she's got a name that even I can't pronounce, and never could have. But I have a tendency to mangle names anyway. So Mrs. R smiles and accepts our apology.

She's maybe in her early '40s and she's almost able to hide her surprise at our age. Not quite, but she seems friendly enough.

"Mr. O'Neill, it's a pleasure to meet you. And this must be Charlie and Jacob." She smiles down at the children. "I'm Mrs. R, I'll be your teacher this year." Her voice is sugar sweet, which startles the children. They're not accustomed to the fake sweet child-talk voice, and she's got hers down pat.

They cling to my legs. I roll my eyes.

Mrs. R is quite familiar with this reaction, so she turns expectantly to Carter, who offers her hand and says, "I'm Samantha Carter."

We all sit down on those little chairs that only children and Asgard can fit it. I'd rather sit on the floor but there are certain social rules to which we must adhere in this world. It can be a real pain in the knee, though.

Just as we're about to start there's a knock on the door and a man walks in. He's middle age as well, dark hair, bushy mustache, seems kid-friendly but business-like. "Hello, I'm the principal, Don Steele. Mind if I intrude?"

I wave my hand invitingly and he takes a seat, somehow looking at ease in the tiny torture chair.

"Hi!" he greets the kids cheerfully, and they press themselves against my side, smiling at him shyly.

"We were just getting to know each other. You're just in time." Mrs. R explains.

"Excellent. So what is your name?" He asks Jacob.

"Jacob O'Neill. This is my sister Charlie O'Neill."

"Charlie? What a beautiful name. Are you a Charlotte?"

Charlie turns to me in confusion and I shake my head no.

"No," she replies meekly, gripping my shirt and wringing it between her tiny fingers.

"Just Charlie, then?"

She nods her head, and with a quick glance at me she says, "I chose it because Father had a son named Charlie. There's a picture of him in our room and he looks really happy. I like Charlie's picture."

I'm slightly surprised by her reasoning, but I like the picture, too. I can understand her logic.

"You chose your name?" Mrs. R asks.

"Uh-huh. Father chose Jacob's, though. But O'Neill is Father's name so we have it now, too. Do you know Father?"

"No, I don't believe I do. Should I?"

I smile and shake my head no. About this time they finally realize that I haven't actually said anything. Sure, I can talk now but not well. It hurts a little, but the real reason is that folks spend all their time trying to understand what I say that it isn't worth the effort.

"Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?" she asks, getting down to business. "Any concerns?"

I have tons of concerns, but she doesn't need to know that. I glance over at Carter and she takes over. "There are some things you need to know about Charlie and Jacob."

"They're adopted." Mrs. R guesses.

"Yes, but it's more than that."

"May I ask what your relationship is?" She interrupts.

Carter and I look at each other like that proverbial deer illuminated before the impending splat. We don't even know what our relationship is, how do we explain it to them?

"Uh, we're friends, I guess. They live with me."

"You don't own your own home?" she asks me.

"Please, let me explain and you'll understand. Jack was a General in the Air Force. He disappeared on a diplomatic mission over ten years ago. He was held captive in a slave labor camp, where the Twins were later born. Their parents were killed about a year ago in an accident and Jack's been taking of them ever since. When he escaped he brought them with him. They've been home a little under three months."

"Oh my word! You mean he's…you've been missing for ten years?"

Of course, in my mind, I wasn't missing. Just misplaced. I don't bother responding. The kids are playing rock paper scissors ignoring us.

"Yes." Carter replies for me. "We all though he was dead so…most of his things are gone. Jack was my commanding officer for eight years and we're pretty close. We're family."

I smile at that and surprise her by taking her hand. Jacob looks over at us and seems to have understood the topic of conversation. "Mother." He says simply and points at Carter, then he resumes his game with Charlie.

"So you'll be helping him to raise the children?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry to ask, I don't mean to be rude, but…Can you talk?" Principal Steele asks me.

"Not well," I reply, a little embarrassed.

"That's part of the other thing we need to tell you," Carter adds. "The place they were held captive, it wasn't…it wasn't good. The things they saw and heard…We're just worried there may be some aftermath. They haven't had the normal childhood but they're really doing great despite it."

The Twins smile proudly, basking warmly in her praise. Does she say these things about me? Am I jealous?

"Could you give me some details?" Mrs. R requests uncomfortably. She doesn't want to know but it's part of her job now.

Carter takes a breath. "I only know what was in Jack's report but there were regular beatings, even women and children, but Jack usually…stopped it. He never let anything happen to the Twins but they saw what happened to Jack when he got in the way. Their only real physical trauma was starvation. From birth they had a restricted diet. They were severely underweight when they got here, but they seem to be okay now, although they're given bi-monthly check-ups."

Neither Mrs. R nor Principal Steele looks like they can respond so Carter continues. "Jack wasn't allowed to speak, so he couldn't verbally communicate with them. He managed to start talking again last week, but they always seem to understand him. He taught them how to protect themselves and when they feel threatened they revert to their survival instincts. They drop to the floor and curl up on their sides. It's been a while since they've done it, but it's nothing to worry about. We've talked to them about not discussing it with other children, and they seem to understand. And they aren't violent."

She looks over at me wondering if she forgot anything. The teacher and the principal are looking at me with peculiar expressions. I feel like I'm the one going to school.

A million things run through my mind that I want to tell them about my kids. I know I'll have to narrow it down, we'd be here for years if I don't. I glance quickly around the room, and when I stand up the kids excitedly jump to their feet to follow me. There's a bunch of paint bottles on a shelf against the wall so I point to them then pick up the red, shielding it from the kids.

"They don't like the color red. It reminds them of blood. Paint especially would do that." Carter explains softly.

I walk the room carefully and notice that even I'm affected by the dimmer lighting further away from the windows. I walk over to the windows and pull the blinds up all the way. Then I shrug.

"They like to be in the light, look out the windows and see what's outside. They were held in a deep cavern that didn't get much sunlight. But he thinks they'll be okay wherever."

It's amazing how well she translates me. I notice some hooks at the back of the room for coats and bags. I point to it and look expectantly at Carter. She stares blankly back. Then she realizes I'm messing with her because there is absolutely no way she could know what I mean.

"You're a real pain in the neck, sir." She chides.

I grin back at her, pleased that I can still rile her. I wrap my arms around myself and put on a good show of shivering, like it's cold, then tap my head and shrug.

That magnificent look she gets when she understands something of cosmic importance graces her gorgeous features and I can't believe I'm so lucky to have her in my life. "They're not used to cold weather and they'll forget they can wear their jackets when they're cold. They probably won't let you know when they need them, they're used to… being uncomfortable."

I walk back to her, glancing down at her pocket and without further prompting she gives them every phone number she has, including the base. And Daniel. And the neighbors. And the doctors. You get the idea.

We show the kids around the school then, with Mrs. R excitedly telling them about all the wonderful things they'll be doing. Jacob and Charlie are enthusiastic but ever polite.

Mrs. R doesn't look at me. I know I make other people uncomfortable with my silence, and when they find out what happened to me they just aren't sure how to react. I might as well have a stamp on my head that says 'I've been tortured. Don't bug me.' They try to ignore it, pretend there's nothing wrong with me, and by doing so they make it a bigger deal than it is. They're sweet as can be, treading on broken glass, yet knowing that they shouldn't. It's painful to watch them struggle with acting normal, but I appreciate they're efforts, flawed as they are.

Surprisingly, it's worse with old acquaintances, it's difficult to explain where I disappeared to and why I've been gone without revealing the whole truth. I haven't seen too many old acquaintances, or friends. To be honest, I haven't even seen my ex-wife.

That night we put the children to bed early. That's to say, I go to bed early and they come with me. They can't sleep without me, even when they're sound asleep in the morning I can't get up without them rising with me, no matter how bushed they are. I find that I sleep a lot. I also lay awake long into the night. Sometimes I read, but most of the time I lay there thinking about the past, not the last twelve years, but perhaps my decade or so with the SGC, or my life with Charlie and his mother, or even my youth in Minnesota, where the lakes are blue and the fish grow so big they have license plates. I miss Minnesota. War is fought for places like Minnesota.

I used to have a cabin up north, but it was sold when I disappeared. I can never forgive Carter and Daniel for that. That cabin was my pride and joy and now it's gone, forever. At least I have Jake and Charlie now, or the loss of my precious cabin would have sent me to the nuthouse. I would have loved to take the kids up there. I'm sure they would have loved it as much as I did growing up. But that is also another story.

It's morning now and the kids are excitedly getting ready for school. I help them pick out their clothes though admittedly I have no fashion sense. Give me BDUs and day, saves me the trouble of trying to look good. Anyway, Carter will give them the go ahead, so I'm not worried. I just care that they're comfortable.

I prepare they're bowls of cereal and we eat together, waiting for Carter to join us. When she does she's got her camera in her hand and explains that when she was growing up her mother always took her picture on the first day of school. Carter tradition. I think it's a great idea so we manage to get the Twins to shyly pose for us. They know what cameras are, and they enjoy looking at the pictures, but they feel silly posing. I prefer spontaneity. The natural. But they really do look so cute when they're embarrassed.

The ride to the school is quiet. The kids rarely talk in the car, they're still so amazed by automobiles and speed that they forget everything else. I can't wait to take them on roller coasters.

When we get to the school I have an anxiety attack. It's just hitting me that for the next few hours I won't be able to see my children. This didn't happen with my son Charlie, I was so wrapped up in his excitement I forgot I wouldn't be with him. In those days I was special ops and our time together, although not exactly small, was limited. I didn't want to waste a moment.

I became a school volunteer. Honest to God, so I could be near my son.

Unfortunately, at this point, I lack any redeemable qualities for child education. I can't write, I can't talk, I can't play soccer, and the scar on my face either frightens or fascinates youngsters to distraction. But I can read and listen. Yeah, kindergartners really care about that.

We've told Jake and Charlie what to expect. A few hours with children their own age, doing fun things. Carter tells them to play nice with the other kids and try to learn their names and become friends and all that. I say, "Have fun," in my scratchy, wonky voice that sounds like I'm recovering from laryngitis and have a bout of pneumonia and spent the day at a pep rally and suffer from allergies to air and have a mouthful of whipped cream. They laugh at me, and I have to grimace disapprovingly at their disrespect. They giggle some more because Carter slaps me on the back of the head so I'm grinning like an idiot.

I push them playfully to the door and they scamper off, carrying their blue and green backpacks up the stairs and disappearing through the open door.

A little anticlimactic but at least they don't make a scene. There are a few other cars with proud parents and anxious kids and I'm oddly comforted by Jake and Charlie's non-emotional goodbye. Watching these other kids you'd think they were being dragged to the hospital for shots.

Carter and I wait for class to begin to make sure they don't come running out before we drive away. I don't have anywhere to be, I don't have anyone to look after, I don't know what the Hell I'm going to do. For crying out loud, it's been two minutes and I have no idea how to exist without my kids at my side. Does that make me seem just a little bit clingy? Dang, am I going to make a scene here? I'm too old for this.

Carter has to go to the SGC for a few hours before we can pick up the kids. I decide to go with her.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

This is the first time I've been back to the base since my grand return to Earth. I've still got clearance, I've been given nearly unlimited access to the facility even though I have no reason to be here. They feel they owe me that, I guess, but I'm not sure why. However, it is nice that I can still come in and watch Carter work, take her to lunch and all that. Although by lunchtime it will be time to pick up the kids. I'm looking forward to that.

Not much has changed in Cheyenne Mountain, not that I expected it to. Airmen scurry about their business as usual, scientists in while lab coats casually stroll about, their heads in the clouds, Asgard walk around like they own the place…

What?

Oh yeah, Asgard walking round, I'm not imagining it.

Carter watches my reaction with mischievous glee. I knew we were allies with my favorite little gray men but this is…this is more like an alliance. Fifth Race sort of stuff, if you know what I mean. Which you might not. Story time, where's Daniel when you need him?

There was once an alliance of four powerful races: the Asgard, the Ancients, the Nox and the Furlings. To make a long story short the Nox can raise the dead and make things invisible, the Ancients built the Stargate network and a whole slew of other scientific wonders that may have been as easily inclined to failure as success before ascending to a higher plane of existence, and the Furlings…well, I'm not too sure about them but I imagine they're cute and fuzzy and way smarter than us. The Asgard complete this scientific, benevolent wonder group with some fancy ships, superior intellect grounded in sincere guardianship and total control of emotion. Think Vulcan but way smarter and way cooler.

I love the Asgard. Of all our allies they've shown the greatest desire to help the good and innocent, and even though we're like two year-olds to their grandfatherly wisdom they've never been condescending or disrespectful. I've always considered Supreme Commander Thor to be one of the greatest persons I've ever met. Sitting beside im in that respect are General George Hammond, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c, and of course Samantha Carter-O'Neill.

Anyway, you can bet it shocks my socks off to see Asgard strolling around my former command. Not that I mind, it adds a certain genuine character to the base and it's purpose.

The Asgard stops in the hallway, inspecting me curiously, so Carter and I stop to chat.

"O'Neill." The Asgard greets me in a way I remember from twelve years ago, the slightly informal and, for their species, jovial tone that I can recognize as Supreme Commander Thor.

A smile spreads across my face at seeing my old friend. "Thor. Buddy."

Of course, whatever actually came out of my mouth was never meant to be heard by human or Asgard ears. He seems to understand me though.

He steps closer to me and offers me his hand. Carter looks shocked at the gesture, but I'm not sure why because this had become a ritual of ours whenever he came to visit when I first took command of the SGC and when I moved to Washington. He was quite eager to partake in our Earth customs and had unofficially named me as his teacher. It looks like he's just as eager to pick up where things left off. "It is good to see you, my friend. I was glad to hear of your return. The Asgard are most pleased that you are alive and well."

I don't doubt it. For some reason the little fellas like me. "Thanks."

Thor looks over at Carter curiously.

"He said thanks." She smiles humorously. My glare has no effect on her.

"You seem to have difficulty in speaking, O'Neill." Thor points out innocently, but even I can see he's laughing on the inside. Emotionless, my eye. These guys have more humor than most Senators I know. Actually, more than all the politicians I've ever known. They just like to hide it from the children. "I would not have recognized you had you not been accompanied by Colonel Carter."

I know it's a joke, and a pretty good one for Thor. We all look alike. The thing that had set me apart all those years ago was my incessant chatter and odd mannerisms. That, and a neat genetic code their sensors could lock onto.

"You seem surprised to see me." Thor continues.

I nod and shrug and wave my hand about to indicate I wasn't expecting him to be walking around our base so freely and comfortably. Surprisingly, he understands me.

"The Asgard have been awaiting your return to the SGC. Daniel Jackson assured us you could not stay away forever. We have a proposition we wish to discuss."

I look at Carter accusingly, thinking she must have set this up but she looks as surprised as me.

"I didn't know, Jack."

"We have not discussed this with anyone else. I received permission from Daniel Jackson to remain on Earth to await your arrival. My ship will return when we are finished. I can stay as long as you wish, if you feel unready to discuss our proposal."

I honestly don't know what to think. I have no idea what they have in mind for me, what this proposal is, but Thor has piqued my curiosity. Daniel was probably right that I just can't stay away. Also, I've got nothing better to do for the next few hours. I shrug as nonchalantly as possible but I'm sure even Thor can see how curious I am. I mean, what could be so important that the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet would camp out on my doorstep to have an audience with me? Doesn't he have more important things to do? Maybe he's on vacation.

Carter leads us to an empty conference room, matching her pace to ours. The Asgard are smaller than humans, an average of four feet tall, with small, frail-looking bones, unproportionally large heads with huge black glassy eyes. Over the many millennia of their existence they have become dependent on intellectual rather than physical means. In short, they walk at a snail's pace, and with my bum leg and cane, I rather like it. Nice and easy, no hurry to get where you're going. Chalk another one up for my Asgard buddy.

We sit down and Carter leaves us to chat alone, setting up a computer for me if I need it to talk to Thor.

"If my ship were here we have technology which would simulate your voice through your thoughts. Unfortunately, the_ Enterprise_ is not in this galaxy."

My eyes bug out of my head and my slack jaw dances shamefully. The _Enterprise_? That is…so cool.

"Colonel Carter once suggested you would appreciate that name." Thor explains. I'll bet he spent years imagining my reaction. He's a sly one. I smile appreciatively and I'm surprised by how at ease I am with him. I've been around the galaxy enough not to be bothered by some of the stranger looking species I've seen, or even to be able to converse with and respect them. The Asgard are on a whole other level, and Thor is way, way up there at the top.

There are very few people who I've trusted, respected, and liked from the moment I met them. Thor is one of them. Teal'c is another. Surprising to me is that they're both aliens, and that the list is rather short. But from the moment I was snatched away from the SGC in the middle of a speech to negotiate a treaty on behalf of Earth between the Goa'uld, the Asgard, and the Tau'ri, Thor was my number-one ally. Master Bratac and Jacob Carter have that claim too, but seeing as they'll both never read this and I promised a copy to the Supreme Commander I don't have a problem playing favorites.

"I believe the saying is 'let us cut to the chase.'" Thor announces abruptly, and I wave in agreement for him to get to the point. "The Asgard wish to formalize the alliance between our people. We would like you, O'Neill, to become Earth's ambassador to the Asgard. The terms of our agreement are not contingent upon this, however, we would be honored if you would accept."

I honestly don't know what to say. Had I the predisposition for speech I'd have been rendered without it. They'd be honored? Heck, I've never been more honored in my life, professionally speaking. This is one heck of a thing, to be asked by one of the most advanced races in the galaxy to be their ambassador is…well, let's just say I'll never need to pad my ego.

I pull out my wallet and hand over a picture of Jacob and Charlie. This was taken a couple weeks ago when I was feeling particularly sentimental and they were just so dang cut sleeping together on the couch. Without me! I couldn't resist.

"Your children." Thor accurately guesses. "I can understand you would not wish to part with them. Your position would not require that you leave Earth for more than a day or two, perhaps once or twice a month."

That surprises me. They must have really thought this through.

"We would equip the SGC with the necessary power source to allow you to travel by Stargate to our galaxy." Bonus points for me bringing new technology to Earth. We've got ZPMs from Atlantis, and Thor would know better than I do what kind of advancements we've made. And thanks to the Stargate, travel time would be, well, no time at all, really.

"Your children would be most welcome on Orilla." Ooh, he is one smooth manipulator. I'm actually quite tempted, though my government would never seriously consider letting the kids come with me to another galaxy. I'm wondering what my part of the deal looks like if I'm getting all these perks.

"We would ask that you attend the council meetings concerning affairs in your galaxy. Also, that you are available here at the SGC if my people wish to speak with you about Earth. There are many of us who would be honored to meet you. You are legendary among the Asgard." Did he read my mind? Who cares? Ego expanding, must deflate. Too much flattery, must take me down now. "However, I have managed to convince most otherwise." Ouch. "You are much too real and alive to be a legend." Sweet. "Although one day, no doubt, you and your team will receive all due reverence as true legends."

Aw man, what am I supposed to say to that? Something quippy and witty to merit my legendary irreverence and sarcasm?

"Nonetheless, many of the Asgard would appreciate first hand knowledge of your world. We would like for you to teach us." Teach you what? I'm no teacher. Carter and Daniel, maybe, they'd love it, but me? What have I got to offer? Warfare and sarcasm?

"You are wondering why we would choose you." I swear he can read my mind. "Do not doubt you own importance, O'Neill. You have helped your people to achieve great things." He pauses a moment and I swear that he sighs. "Additionally, the others have found your brand of politics to be…refreshing. You are forthright and honest and have been found to be trustworthy." Is that his way of saying I'm entertaining? Because despite whatever you think I am not a court jester. Refreshing? I like it.

"Please consider our offer. We can later discuss the terms of your position. We are open to negotiation. I personally will guarantee that we would not force you to do anything you do not wish to do. In short, we are at your disposal, O'Neill. We believe this to be a fair offer."

More than fair, my friend. Decidedly in my favor. I know that they consider me a hero since I saved their Homeworld from the Replicators, but this is downright humbling. Slowly, I type into the computer while Thor waits patiently. 'Do I get an office?'

He reads the message and stares at me, unblinking, for several seconds. I quirk my eyebrows up innocently. He's deciding whether I'm joking or not. Eventually he decides to answer anyway. "On Earth, that would be a decision for your government. On Orilla, we do not have offices."

Good to know. I type in 'I'll think about it. This is quite an offer.'

Thor inclines his head respectfully.

'So how is the galaxy?' I inquire, and we spend the next couple hours briefing me on galactic and intergalactic affairs. We wrap it up when it's time to pick up the kids. Thor offers to stick around the next few days to answer my questions. I'm sure Carter and Daniel will have a few when I brag to them, I mean, casually inform them about the offer of ambassadorship. Ambassador O'Neill. I kind of like it. Makes this old boy sound important. But there are still tons of things to consider. The Twins being one of them.

Thor doesn't seem to care that I'm as scrawny as him, or that I may see someone who isn't really there, or that I don't speak anymore. It's hard to smile sometimes, the muscles aren't used to it and the scar on my cheek stretches and pulls, my right eye doesn't open as wide as the left. All in all my facial expressions are harder to read if you don't know me well. The Twins and Carter can read me like a book, but I doubt Thor is familiar enough with humans to know that I'm actually pretty excited about the offer.

Maybe he can. I can tell how excited he is to make the offer.

Carter drives me back to the school to pick up Jake and Charlie. I'm anxious to learn how their first day went. Like the other parents we wait outside by the school bus. I'm wondering if the Twins could handle taking the bus so Carter doesn't have to chauffer us around during the day. I could just wait at home for them. Doc says I still shouldn't drive, wouldn't want to have a mental episode while I'm traveling 55 mph in a small tin box. Hurts the leg, anyway.

The class comes out together and I immediately pick out my kids from the bunch. They're holding hands, looking nervously at all the parents until they spot me and Carter, and they dash far ahead of the group towards us. Some of the other children follow suit, sprinting off to their respective parents. Charlie is in my arms before the others break ranks. She has a piece of paper in her hands and she shoves it in my face, too close for me to see it. But I know she's smiling.

I set her down and take the paper. It's a picture in crayon and I know they both contributed to it. It's all blue and green. There's no pattern or shape or anything discernible, it's just blue and green lines and squiggles, but to my trained eye I've never seen art more beautiful. I place a hand on her shoulder and smile, and proudly hand the artwork over to Carter. It will so be up on the refrigerator the minute we get home.

"This is beautiful, Charlie. Did you and Jacob both make this?" Carter asks sweetly, hugging the girl while Jacob takes my hand.

"Yes, Mother. I did the blue. Do you like it?"

"Of course, Charlie, it's wonderful. Isn't it, Jack?"

I nod and smile dumbly in sincere agreement and they're beaming with pride.

"So what else did you do today?" Carter asks as we climb into her car.

Charlie responds before Jacob can even open his mouth. "We played a game to learn the names of the others in the class. Jake forgot his name and they laughed at him, but I didn't think it was funny, so I didn't laugh."

"That's very sweet, Charlie. Jacob, honey, it's okay to forget your name. It's new, so it will take some time to get used to it."

Thank God for Carter. If I'd been in that class I'd have laughed at him, too. I'm a jerk, what can I say? But I would have made it better somehow. He loves my hugs. The Twins talk excitedly about their day once Jake is over his embarrassment and Carter asks the questions to keep them going. I sit and listen.

I don't care for my role in this. I want to be able to interact with my kids, not just respond to them. That's when I decide that listening is really overrated and talking is a great asset. So I'm going to be working my jaw off to be able to speak clearly again.

Of course I'll be doing this privately.

Carter returns to the SGC after dropping me and the kids off at home. Yes, I am now certifiably a stay-at-home Dad, and I love it. I get to spend all day with two lovely five year-olds, what's not to love? Poor Carter has to slave away to her machines and doodads. And Daniel, well, I don't envy him. Command of the SGC is no cake walk. No, I love my role as doting father. Would an ambassadorship affect that? I decide not to think about these issues when I should be having fun with my children.

"Can we go to the park, Father?"

Oh yeah. Loving this. Except for one thing.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: Oh so sorry to leave you hanging there. Love a little tension, don't you?

-Bixata

_Previously:_

_I love my role as doting father. _

"_Can we go to the park, Father?"_

_Oh yeah. Loving this. Except for one thing._

Chapter 15

Carter only lives about a quarter mile from the park, but I try to avoid it as much as possible. I've only been there once with the Twins, and both Carter and Teal'c were with us. I don't make a show of reluctance, I doubt the others have even realized I'm never with them, that I'm just too tired or my leg hurts too bad or I'm lost to the world whenever they make the invitation. But the truth is much deeper than that.

I'm just plain scared. Petrified.

This park holds memories for me, good and happy and therefore painful memories. More than twenty years ago, I had brought my son here, had watched him play baseball, taught him to play catch here. I brought his mother here on our first date, so long ago but I still remember that day, the start of my life. I can be sentimental as the next guy but that isn't why I never come here.

I see dead people.

The state of my mind is such that reality often blends with the unreal, with dreams or nightmares of my past. I can usually handle this schizophrenic phenomenon because I am not in fact, schizophrenic, but here, at this park, the two worlds are so completely enmeshed that I cannot discern one from the other. I realized this months ago when I watched my three kids happily playing on the monkey bars together, my wife and Carter dutifully worrying about their safety. I knew it wasn't real, and yet, I know it happened that way, each world separated by nothing more than time.

I haven't been back since.

But now the Twins have survived their first day of school and they deserve a little celebration to honor their achievement. Playing at the park seems like a great idea and this is the closest one. It's also a pretty great park, which is why we used to bring Charlie to it. I used to live about five miles from Carter's house with my wife and son, a fact that Carter never realized. If she knew my ex-wife lived so close she might have dropped by, introduced herself, dragged me inside for the reunion and explanation of my resurrection and negligence in informing her I was back. I'm kind of glad she didn't. It's much more fun taking her completely by surprise.

You ever have one of those days where everything just falls in your lap at once, every coincidence happens when you least expect it, and everything either goes horribly right or horribly wrong?

This is one of those days. Synchronicity at its best. I've had a lot of them, generally with the horribly wrong in the majority. SG-1 got into more scrapes with million to one odds encounters that you'd think we broke every mirror in the galaxy, that the Stargate is actually some ladder we're walking under, or that we really are some cable network sci-fi TV series with new adventures and galactic misfortunes every Friday night. You wouldn't believe half the tales of our missions. Crazy, unbelievable stuff. But all in all, it's just a series of coincidences, coupled with our remarkable ability to deal with them.

To recap the day's events, we dropped the kids off at their first day of school, the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet begged me to be Earth's Ambassador to their race, we picked the kids up from school and after a small snack of cakes and sodas (or goldfish crackers and water, whatever) the Twins and I are headed to the park.

When we get to the park they dash off for the playground and I find a bench nearby to sit and watch, trying vainly to stay in the present but I'm not at all surprised when my ex-wife suddenly appears on the other side of the playground. She looks in my direction and I can see her smiling at me, but I know she isn't really there so I ignore her.

Jake and Charlie are playing with a boy about their age, maybe a little younger, looks like follow the leader. Jake's leading, he seems to be a natural-born leader. And daring, too, judging from the acrobatic stunt he's about to pull. Or rather, pulled. Let's just say it involved leaping, balance, and swinging tires. Charlie looks scared out of her wits.

"Charlie!" I call out to get her attention and stand up to stop her if I need to. I so do not want to see my kids pulling the same kinds of stupid tricks that I pulled. They're smarter than that.

She looks relieved as I shake my head at her, basically telling her that if she even thinks about becoming an amateur gymnast she'll soon be wrapped in cotton and locked safely indoors for the rest of her life. Jake looks quite smug. The other kid scurries away. The Twins resume their game.

"Jack?" The image of my ex-wife calls out, walking quickly towards me. I dutifully ignore her. "Jack is that…" She trails off and slows down, disappointment on her face. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

I turn away, slightly confused by this vision, and attempt to shove her from my mind when the kids hurry over to me.

"Do you know Father?" Jake asks someone behind me and I turn quickly back and come face to face with my ex-wife, Sara. And she is not an illusion. Oops.

"No, I guess I was mistaken. You just…you look like someone I used to know." She states apologetically. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir."

This whole situation is just too outrageous and humorous as I write this, that I'm having difficulty expressing just how stunned I was. Absolutely flabbergasted. Imagine one of your hallucinations starts talking with folks in your reality. Or a dream coming to life. This is really Sara standing there before me, thinking I'm not really me but hoping I am, and me thinking the same of her, and yet we're both really here. Let me recheck that, I'm sure I got it right. I get a headache just thinking about it.

And yet, at the time, all I'm thinking is 'Did she just call me sir?'

I'm staring at her now and I think I'm making her a bit uncomfortable. She looks around nervously, and the young boy the Twins were playing with earlier is suddenly attached to her leg, peering around her shyly from behind. Sara looks down at the boy with a loving smile and I know without a doubt it's as a grandmother. I remember she had a stepdaughter that should be old enough to be a mother now. God, I miss that smile. She always did love children.

You'd think my brain would have kicked into gear by now, but nope, I'm still staring stupidly at her. Charlie looks up at me concerned. "Father, are you here?"

It's an odd question, but one she's learned to ask from Carter. I doubt she knows what it means, but she does know when to ask it. Her concern snaps me to action and I nod briefly and take her hand, still gazing into Sara's eyes.

She sees the recognition in my eyes, she knows that scar over my left eyebrow from the few times we met after our divorce, she knows the way I hold a child's hand. "Jack?" She asks again, clearly confused.

I respond with a hug. There is no way a simple guy like me can put into words the emotion behind that embrace. Sara is stiff at first, disbelieving and confused, but in moments she melts and returns the sentiment, recognizing what Cassie Fraiser has come to define as the Jack O'Neill hug. She's threatened to add it to the dictionary, I swear she's got a petition. Essentially, it's like baring your soul entirely to your companion in a non-sexual way. Real movie magic with no ulterior motive. Basically it's like having a security blanket wrapped safely around you. I'm not sure whether to be offended by this or not.

"My God, is it really you, Jack?"

She hasn't pulled away so I nod against her shoulder. The three children are staring up at us innocently, confused. I can barely hear Jake whisper to Charlie, "I think Father knows her," and then Charlie's whisper back, "I think so, too."

Eventually Sara pulls away from me, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Jack, how? When? Where have you been, what happened?"

"Father can't talk much." Jacob tells her helpfully.

She smirks at me, and I can't help but admire how strong she is, how well she is handling this. "Father?" She asks playfully.

I smirk back and run my hand through my shock of white hair, as though slicking it back. Or at least tame it.

"Yes. So you know Father?" Jacob asks.

"You could say that." She kneels down gracefully to be eye-to-eye with the kids. "And what is your name, young man?"

Jake glances at me, hesitating a moment before answering, "Jacob O'Neill."

"Jacob, huh? That's a fine name."

"Father chose it. Mother says her father's name was Jacob, and he used to work with Father."

"Really? And how about you, young lady?"

Charlie smiles proudly, immediately liking the strange old (forgive me Sara) woman. "Charlie O'Neill. But I chose my name."

"You…chose Charlie?" She swallows hard, and glances up at me.

"Father has a picture of his son who was named Charlie and he looked really happy, so Father let me be called Charlie."

"That's…well, that's very sweet of you, Charlie. You said you got to choose your name?" I can see she's thinking that my little girl must have had a horrifically awful name before if she had to change it.

"My name used to be Girl. Our parents didn't give us real names. Father thought we should get to choose our own names when we wanted."

Sara looks at me with humor in her eyes and I shrug. Then she pulls the boy who was still hiding behind her out front. "This is my grandson, Ethan. Ethan, this is Jack O'Neill, and Charlie and Jacob. Why don't the three of you go finish playing. We'll be right here waiting for you."

Jake studies her dubiously. "What is your name?"

"Sara. You can call me Sara."

"Does Mother know you?"

Have you ever met an overprotective five year-old? He's protecting me, for crying out loud. He'll be the one to tell Carter about our day, so he needs to know everything. I nod at him reassuringly and shoo him off to the playground again. He has not trouble obeying that directive.

Sara and I sit down nervously on the bench. I set my cane to the other side of me, away from her.

"I can't believe you're really here, Jack. When did you get back?"

I slowly sign out three months, knowing that she knows enough sign language to understand.

"Why wasn't I told?" She scolds with a small bit of sarcasm and lightheartedness to hide the pain of not being important enough to be informed.

I put a hand to my throat and shrug.

"So why can't you talk? You get hit?" She traces the scar down my cheek.

I shake my head and can sense that she's getting irritated with my silence. I had a bad habit of not talking with her during our marriage, at least about things work-related. Or my failures.

"I guess I'm not going to learn anything from you." We sit back and watch the children and it takes me a moment to realize we're holding hands. This is how I always imagined my life would turn out, my wife at my side, watching our children play games, not a care in the world. At this moment, I realize it was always a pipe dream, one I lost when my son died and I was thrown into the world of Stargates and spaceships. Now I find that I don't really want it anymore.

Sure, I want to watch the children having fun, but I want to care about more than that. I want more responsibility than that, I have so much more I can do while the kids are off at school, I don't need them to define my life, I need to them be a part of it, not control it.

It's amusing where one gets an epiphany. Sara doesn't know it but I've just become Ambassador O'Neill.

"So you're a father again. Thought you'd be a little too old for that." She smiles cheekily at my glare, never one to back down from amusing insults.

"Where's their mother? At work?" I nod my head. "So you met her wherever you've been the last…what is it, eleven, twelve years?"

I kind of raise my eyebrows and shrug and look away and shake my head and…Sara never did appreciate charades.

"Never mind. It's none of my business anyway. So…Are you okay? You seem happy."

She gets her confirmation when I smile at the kids.

"They're twins? They're adorable. Jacob reminds me of you. I saw that jump he did. He's quite daring. And Charlie, she's a little sweetheart. You really let her name herself Charlie?"

I've done it before. A few orphans I've met have wanted me to be their father, and somehow having the same name as someone who I love as a father might give them an edge. Actually, I do understand it's a way to honor my son, and I respect that.

"How old are they?" I hold up my right hand, all five fingers stretched out. "Kindergarten? First day?" She shares my smile. "I suppose this is a little celebration then."

After that she doesn't know what to say, but I get the feeling she doesn't want to leave. She wants to know where I've been, who the kids' mother is, how I'm doing, why I can't talk. She wants to know it all and she has that right, though she won't be pushing me. I get the feeling the kids will play the role of informant in this once again.

Eventually all three kids head our way and Charlie tiredly climbs up onto the bench with me. I hand her the water bottle from our pack and she shares it with Jake when she's done. He offers it to Ethan but with a fearful glance at Sara he declines. I guess some people still care about germs, though at his age I'm surprised. But then, my kids take water wherever they can get it no matter who's had it before them, and I doubt that will ever change. As a matter of fact…I take a sip after Jacob.

"Can Ethan spend more time with us, Father? He knows lots of games and he said he'd teach us." Jacob asks as politely as an excited child can. I know I can't be the one to say no, since this is possibly their first real friend.

"Can I, Grandma?"

And now I doubt Sara can say no. Little manipulators.

By mutual consent we drive back to the house in Sara's car, though we could have easily walked. I'm not complaining though, Charlie likes being carried and I hate to admit it but I'm in no condition for that, even if she does weigh less than a knapsack. I let them into the house and the kids scamper into the living room. Sara promptly investigates the place, noticing all of Carter's things and nothing that even remotely looks like mine. There are a few pictures of me with SG-1 and we just put up a couple of the kids, but that's about it.

She points at a picture of me and Carter. "This is their mother?" She doesn't bother waiting for an answer. "She's very beautiful. Will she be coming home soon?"

I check my watch. Not even 1400. Carter won't be back until 1700 at the earliest, depending on what gizmos she's got to play with. She mentioned something about the hyperdrive engines putting up a fuss, they might have to call her in on that. But with Thor around playing nice maybe he'll give them a hand and she can come home early.

I shrug.

"She's on your team. Still active?"

Before I can respond Charlie comes rushing over. "Ethan's hungry, but he didn't want to say anything because Jake and I aren't. Can he have some goldfish?"

Sara looks at me sheepishly. "We haven't had lunch yet. You think we could maybe have something a little more substantial?"

Charlie follows us into the kitchen. "What's substinchel?"

"Substantial. It's…more filling. A meal instead of a snack."

Charlie's confused by that. "Goldfish aren't substantial?"

"Not really. They're snack food. For between meals."

She looks up at me with wide, nearly frightened eyes. "I thought that's what we were doing. Are we supposed to eat another meal now? Because I don't think I can."

I chuckle at that, imagining forcing her to eat cake and cookies when she's already full. I know, not exactly a meal, but that was just the crazy image I conjured in order to avoid thinking about why exactly she isn't able to eat a full meal for lunch.

"Jack, what are you feeding these kids? It's no wonder they're skin and bones." Sara jokes.

I don't think it's funny.

"Father feeds us a lot. I feel a lot better than I did before we came here. The doctors said we shouldn't eat too much too fast, though. I like the food here. It tastes good."

"Doctors? Were you sick?"

"I don't think so. I was sick a long time ago and Mother said I almost died but Guardian helped to take care of me, made me better, gave me his food and water. I don't remember it. It was just after Guardian hurt his leg. He took care of me while his leg healed."

I hadn't known her parents told her this. Apparently they told their children a lot about me. I was their bedtime story. Instead of Wynken, Blynken and Nod they had Guardian.

Sara glances at my leg thoughtfully. "He must have taken very good care of you. You look healthy to me."

"Father takes very good care of us." I help her up onto a stool so she can help make Ethan's lunch. "BP and J?"

I smile as Sara corrects her. "PB and J. Ethan loves them."

"I like the straw'by jelly. Jacobs like the purple one."

"Grape?"

"Grape. Are you making two?"

"One's for me."

Charlie gazes at her in awe. "You can both eat a whole sandwich by yourself?" The Twins and I usually just share one, but we're working up to two.

"I am a bit bigger than you."

"Father can't eat that much. Mother and Daniel almost never eat lunch. They're too busy and they forget. But Mother says that because me and Jake are still growing that we should eat at least three times a day."

"She's right."

"Teal'c says she's always right, but he doesn't say it like that. He says 'Colonel Carter is most knowledgeable about these things' or something like that."

It's highly amusing to watch a five year-old girl impersonate Teal'c. Unfortunately the humor is lost on Sara. "Your mother is smart, huh? I bet you're just like her."

Charlie blushes sweetly. "She's very nice. She let us stay here when we first met her. I think she helps Father a lot." She looks at me full of innocence. "He only lets her touch him when he isn't all here. Even Daniel and Teal'c can't get him back. But he hasn't done that for a long time."

I know Sara doesn't understand that, though by now Charlie's given her all the pieces to the puzzle. She's just trying to fit them together now. However, before she can, there's a noise outside and the front door opens slowly. "Jack?" Carter calls out.

"We're in the kitchen." Charlie responds cheerily and crawls off the stool. "Father met a friend at the park. Jacob's playing with Ethan somewhere." She runs out to meet Carter, who's just coming around the corner.

"Mind if I join you?" Carter says pleasantly with a smile when she recognizes Sara. "It's nice to see you again, ma'am."

"Sara, please."

Carter smiles. "Sam."

I interrupt their little camaraderie building by indicating my watch to Carter.

"They sent me home." She replies, obligingly picking up Charlie who's tugging at her pants leg. "Yes?"

"You haven't met Ethan. Sara's his grandma. What's a grandma?"

Carter casts us an amused glance. "The mother of one of his parents. It's short for grandmother."

"Ma is short for mother?"

"Yes. Although usually we use Mom. And Dad is short for Father."

I'd become so accustomed to them referring to me as Father I didn't even think about them calling me Dad.

Charlie points over at me. "Dad?"

"That's right."

"That's easier than Father."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you call him Dad."

"He gets a new name, too." She says gleefully. "And Mom." She adds, kissing Carter on the cheek, then squirming to be let down. "I'll go tell Jacob."

Now it's just the three of us in the kitchen. I wonder why Carter was sent home so early, and I suspect Thor has something to do with it. So charades it is. I point to the floor, indicating the house, then my watch, for why she's early, and hold my hand out at waist level and point to the ceiling. Then I tap my head. Would you have understood?

She smiles in complete comprehension. "He said you may need a little help making a decision. I've never seen him so…anxious." I point at her then tap my head again. "No, I haven't got a clue what it's about." I smirk at that. "Okay, so I have an idea, but only because it seemed important enough for him to offer to help us with the engines."

Hah! I was so right. I shrug and smile innocently.

"So you ran into each other at the park? That must have been some surprise." She says, turning to Sara. "I'm sorry you weren't informed about his return. Things have been a little hectic I didn't even think about it. Did they eat something?" She asks me abruptly, taking Sara a bit off-guard. I point to the goldfish. "And you?" I shrug. I wasn't hungry. She rolls her eye and says, "You keep that up and they'll shove a needle in your arm."

I fold my arms across my chest, trying to hide my impulsive shiver, the expression on my face clearly saying that she's one to talk. She raises her hands in guilty defeat. "Okay, okay, I get it. You were right all those years, I should have listened."

Of course I was right. Living on salad and jell-o, it's amazing she had the strength to fight the goa'uld everyday. I grin triumphantly at the recognition of my keen intellect. It fades when she shoves a piece of bread into my hands. I grumble nonsense words at her and snatch Ethan's plate from the table and take it to him. Sara and Carter follow me and find chairs in the living room, leaving the couch for me and the kids. Before Carter can complain I share the bread with the Twins and they diligently eat it. Carter glares at me but lets it go.

So now my ex-wife and, hopefully, my future significant someone sit down to chat. I am so in for it.

TBC

Author's Note: The next chapter is the conclusion, and I promise the JackSam relationship is resolved. There will probably be an epilogue as well. If you want to read more about their life once they're together let me know and I'll try to tell it from Sam's POV.

-Bixata


	16. Chapter 16

_Previously:_

_So now my ex-wife and, hopefully, my future significant someone sit down to chat. I am so in for it._

Chapter 16

"So." Carter turns to Sara, looking slightly uncomfortable, unsure what to say. "Was Jack able to tell you anything?"

"Not really. Charlie's a little chatterbox, though."

"I am not." Charlie defends. "I didn't tell her anything, just like you said." She curls up on the couch with me, the teddy bear she had been given at the hospital clutched in her hand. "Hi Dad." She says with a huge grin on her face, and lifts my arm to slide underneath, snuggling into my side, my arm now around her shoulders. She's all set for a nap now.

Sara leans towards Carter just a bit. "Didn't tell me what?"

Carter smiles, gazing at me and Charlie. "I'm guessing you've figured out that Jake and Charlie are adopted."

"I had an idea."

"He's helped to raise them since they were born. Their parents died about a year ago and he's taken care of them since. They made it legal when he came home."

"Where was he? And don't tell me it's classified."

Carter glances at me for permission but I ignore her, looking down at Charlie, stroking her hair. I don't want Sara to know what we've been through, she's suffered enough on my behalf. But I know she'll find out sooner or later, and she really ought to hear it from us. Carter knows that.

"A prison camp. The Twins were born there. The details are still a bit sketchy but from what Jake and Charlie have told us Jack helped the prisoners to escape, and they came home."

Sara was silent, motionless. In some ways, I think she already knew. She always knew me better than anyone, except perhaps SG-1. Of course, there's the silence, the scar on my face, the bum leg, the fact that I weight less than her, that my kids can't eat three meals a day. There are a lot of signs if you know how to read them. Sara is fluent in the language of Jack O'Neill.

Sara swallows visibly before speaking. "He doesn't speak. Is it…"

"We don't think it's psychological. He wasn't allowed to talk. After twelve years, it's just taking him some time to get used to it again. He can talk, it just isn't…pleasant."

I throw the last of my bread at her, missing by more than a foot. Pitiful aim. Charlie stares at me wide-eyed.

"You should not waste your food, Father."

She's just as overprotective as Jacob.

"Actually, you shouldn't make a mess, Jack. You'll just have to clean it up," Carter teases.

"You've got Jack cleaning house? That's amazing."

Carter looks at me thoughtfully. "Actually, he's offered a few times. When I take the kids to the park."

I refuse to meet Sara's gaze. If there's one person in this world that I don't want pitying me it's Sara.

"I suppose he has trouble with the leg," she says and I look at her quickly, I know she's covering for me. She knows how hard it must be for me to be there, and that isn't pity I see in her face. It's understanding.

I've suffered a lot in my life. Been shot, stabbed, starved, drugged, electrocuted, burned with acid, killed and worse. But I can testify to the fact that there is nothing worse than losing your own child. That wound can never heal completely, but you can learn to deal with it. Far too many people suffer this fate. This world isn't perfect, and in my exploration of the galaxy, I can guarantee that no world is. That's just life, the good and the bad. I've never been much of a philosopher but I have the unique qualifications to talk about life and death through experience, and experience has shown that I much prefer life, which is why I'm here now, writing this book, with my wife and kids. That doesn't mean I love every minute of it.

"He was shot escaping a few years back, and it never healed properly." Carter explains my bum leg.

"He came back for us." Charlie mutters sleepily, her eyes drooping shut. I stroke the hair out of her eyes, looking at my precious angel.

"Guardian saved us." Jacob adds as he climbs up next to her, pulling Ethan with him who is still munching away at his sandwich.

Sara turns to Carter. "Is Jack the Guardian they're talking about?"

"That's what the people there called him, since he couldn't tell them his name. He protected them, saved them from beatings, things like that." She doesn't elaborate.

There's a moment of silence while Sara works through images of how exactly I protected the others. She glances around the house and changes the subject. "So you weren't there with them?"

"No. I wasn't."

"Were you two together before he disappeared?"

Carter looks flustered as she replies. "Uh, no. We aren't…we aren't together. Jack doesn't have a house and he can't drive, so this was really the best option. I love having them here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed…"

"It's okay. I can see how it might look that way."

"They call you Mother. Joint custody."

"No. Jack's the only legal guardian."

"So what's stopping you?"

Carter's confused, unsure what she's referring to. "From what?"

"Being together. You seem pretty good together. You must like him enough to live with him."

My ex-wife, the matchmaker, trying to screw up the good thing I got here by scaring away Carter.

Carter doesn't look that scared. She looks a little relieved. "I love Jack and the kids. Just having them all here is more than I could ask for. Anything beyond that…we're still getting used to one another. Spent so many years avoiding each other we don't know how to do anything else."

Something about the way she says that tells me she's been waiting to talk about this. Maybe not in this setting, with my ex-wife looking on, but she's jumping at the chance. That's pretty cool.

I don't remember much more of that conversation, or that day, really. Carter and Sara talk a while longer about me and the kids, the kids fall asleep and I guess I do too because suddenly Sara is saying goodbye and hugging me and she and Ethan are out the door. Where did the day go?

The Twins have scampered off to our room to play with their teddy bears or something, leaving Carter and me alone in the room to discuss…things.

"So what did Thor want?"

I wave her off, thinking there's something else I'd rather discuss, but now she's scared to talk. I have to wonder at that, her reluctance, and mine, to try to change things between us. Her discomfort has extended to me now and I find comfort in the status quo. But now that I've dismissed the question about Thor's request I'm not sure what to let her talk about now. Darn my impulsiveness.

"Jack, about what I said to Sara. About us." She's looking down at her hands nervously. She's really going to talk about this? I don't think I've been this excited since Thor offered me an ambassadorship. Oh, that was this morning, huh? Seems like a long time ago. "Are we okay with things the way they are?" She asks.

Heck, I'm okay with anything besides that darn planet. Having Carter as a friend is more than I deserve. That doesn't mean I'm not selfish enough to want more. So I shrug and look away.

"I'd just like to know if this is going anywhere. If I didn't push you away too much back then that we'll never…that we lost our chance. Because honestly, if I could go back and change things…well I can't but I know what I want now. And it has nothing to do with our past, and what we did or didn't do, it's about…it's about now, what I feel, what I want, what I hope with all my heart that you want. I don't know for sure what's going on in that head of yours, or whether you feel the same way, but I just want you to know that…I'll always be here for you."

Not exactly what I was hoping for, but okay. I said those same words to her, a long time ago. I'm not sure exactly when, maybe after her father died. She was engaged to another man, I remember that. So I couldn't say anything else, I wouldn't have anyway, she had made it clear that we couldn't be together. Our mission was too important, and we're just too darn heroic and too damn foolish for our own good.

Someone once told me that in all the greatest love stories the lovers can't be together in the end. The all too cliché Romeo and Juliet, or Casablanca, or…um, well I'm not really into that sort of thing so I can't think of any others but you get my point. Anyway, the whole idea is hogwash, if you ask me.

Ours is not a great love story. Years from now nobody will strive to have our kind of love, because frankly, it's hell. I've loved Carter a long time and it never got me anything but a kick in the gut and, sometimes, a new lease on life. I'll admit, I loved my life but when I was willing to give it up I never did, because she asked me not to. But if I'm being honest, any one of my teammates, or General Hammond, could have asked me to stay and I would have.

So perhaps Carter and I are doomed to fail. General O'Neill and Colonel Carter could never be together, even if they tried, because of who they are what they've done together. They'll always be CO and 2IC. However, Jack and Sam…

Sam and I could be great. That's a love story to put all others to shame. I know if for a fact, in my heart, because I know we're meant to be together. I've got universal proof. And I can't imagine for the life of me why Carter…why Sam thinks I could ever turn her down.

Actually, I can because with no indication that I even heard her I stand up and head to the bedroom where the kids are playing. By the time I return to the living room with my old lunch box of treasured possessions she's crying softly on the couch, hiding her face in the pillows.

I touch her shoulder gently and she springs up, wiping her face and gazing at me, full of fear and hope and sadness. I sit down next to her and hand her the box. She hasn't looked inside it yet, she doesn't know the things I kept locked away.

She takes the box carefully, reverently, and runs her hand over the top. There's a picture from the Wizard of Oz on it, the traveling foursome skipping down the yellow brick road. She laughs softly at that. I've always had an affinity for the movie. It was one of Charlie's favorites, thus it became one of mine. Carter never understood that, always cringed or rolled her eyes in annoyance when I quoted it or made some reference to it. But I think Sam finally understands its importance to me. She unclasps the hinges and pulls up the top.

The picture of SG-1 is now on top and she takes a moment to gaze at it nostalgically before picking up the rest of the pictures. She hesitates, deciding whether to look through them or focus on the other items in the box. She sets the pictures down in the lid and picks up a few of Charlie's medals. She ignores my gold wedding band and goes straight for the jewelry box. She holds it but doesn't open it. I'm not sure I want her to, it's not like I'm proposing to her. I just want her to know it's there.

I take it from her hands and she looks at me like I've stolen her kidney or something. I wave the box at her a little, then shove it in my pocket. She looks disappointed now which was so not what I was going for. But she's smiling at least.

I study her face closely, trying to determine what exactly she wants.

"You had that before you disappeared?" Her question is really more of a playful statement.

I nod a little, trying to understand why she's teasing me about this.

"You were hoping to get married? You have anyone special in mind?"

I should warn you this is not one of my prouder moments. She doesn't get it. She's toying with me, I know, she understands why I have it, but she doesn't know how close I came to using it. And how much not being able to give it to her back then had torn me apart.

Have I mentioned I can be a real jerk? Here I am opening my heart to her and she's teasing me, something I probably would have done myself if I wasn't so screwed up in my head from all the torture and loneliness. I know I'm misinterpreting her even as I take her actions to heart.

I shrug, stand up, toss the box carelessly in her lap and walk away to the bathroom, locking myself in. I can also be a coward sometimes when it comes to personal feelings.

She chases me of course, apologizing, shouting that she didn't mean to upset me, and so on. I don't listen. I turn on the shower and climb in, fully clothed, and sit down, my back and head against the wall, letting the hot water shower down on me. Imaginary Carter is back, sitting in there with me, untouched by the spray of water. "Don't shut me out, Jack. I'm an idiot. Give me another chance."

I'm not sure if it's Carter or Sam who says this. I think it's Carter, pleading for Sam.

I've given Carter plenty of chances, but I never thought Sam would mess with me like this. I never thought Sam would need a second chance.

It's all my fault things turned out this way, and I know it but I can't help it. I'm seeing people who aren't even there, for crying out loud. Most of the time I'm okay, I put on such a good front that even Sam doesn't know how fragile I am some days, which is why she didn't know that I wasn't in the mood for games. And I overreacted to her, something she never would have expected.

I turn off the shower but stay seated, playing with the wet fabric of my shirt. Eventually, I pull it off and throw it at the door, angrily. I don't know why I'm angry, I just know that I am. Imaginary Carter is gone but Sam is talking through the door.

"Jack? Are you okay?"

I ignore her as I trace the scars on my arms. Sam hasn't seen me without a shirt since I got back, but she knows the scars are there by the way I hide them. She's probably seen pictures, but I'm not sure.

"Jack."

I think she might be crying. I hear Charlie's concerned voice followed by Jake's and Sam reassuring them that Dad's okay, go play and dinner will be ready soon.

"Jack, I'm coming in."

I've locked the door but I know she can pick locks. I scramble out of the tub and just get a towel around my shoulders when she opens the door, pushing my soggy wet shirt out of the way. I turn my back to her and sit on the edge of the tub.

She closes the door behind her and leans her back against it. "Jack. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I shouldn't have said that. I was just taken by surprise. I had no idea you felt that way, back then."

She must have been a blind idiot not to know it.

"Please, Jack, I'm really sorry. Can we just…maybe start over? Try this again? Face to face, maybe?" She steps closer but I cringe away. I hear her slide down to the floor. "Don't do this, Jack. I made a mistake but I can fix it if you let me. Please." That's actually a good angle for her, because she can fix anything, even things that I've screwed up. "I love you, Jack."

Okay, that got my attention. Sure, she said it before, but not like this.

"That's right, I can finally admit that I'm in love with you, Jack O'Neill. You were being honest with me so now it's my turn. I love you, and I don't want you to think for another moment that I don't want to be with you forever. There's no one I'd rather spend my life with. Even if we're never more than friends, or if we're married tomorrow, I'm here for you. And if that ring was really meant for me I'd be honored and…overwhelmingly happy to accept it."

I have an overwhelmingly happy urge to hug and kiss her until we're senseless, but alas, I have no shirt. I turn slightly and look at her but she must not see how crazy I am about her because she says, "Okay. I'm sorry I hurt you, Jack. I really am. Just…think about it, okay?"

She stands up and moves back to the door but the fear of losing her like this has kicked me into gear and I chase after her, reaching around her to close the door, the towel still around my shoulders. I quickly grab my shirt and turn her to face the door while I put it back on, dropping the towel to the floor.

Now I have two choices. I can hug her and get her all wet, or we can just gaze lovingly into each other's eyes, a throwback to the old days when we weren't allowed to touch.

In the end she makes the decision for us, embracing me tightly, crying into my chest, stroking my arms and back soothingly, or maybe just trying to hold as much of me as she can. I hold her, rocking her gently, stroking her back, until finally she looks up at me. She doesn't see the scar on my face, she isn't repulsed by the ridges and roughness of my skin underneath my shirt, nor is she bothered that it isn't me holding her up but the other way around. And she isn't disturbed by the fact that I'm a freaking moron and just flipped out over something so stupid. That has to be love, right?

I smile and she smiles back. She glances down and pulls the small jewelry box out of her pocket, handing it to me and closing my fingers around it. "I'd love to have it back, someday, soon," she whispers. "I'll go get you some dry clothes."

She hurries from the room, smiling brilliantly. She returns with a stack of clothes and shuts the door while I change. When I come out she's in the kitchen humming, excitedly tossing things into a skillet. The Twins are at the counter watching her, and they greet me with a proud, "Hi Dad," loving my new name.

I kiss each of them on the forehead and sit down on a stool to watch with them. Nobody says anything. We eat our dinner in silence, Sam and I gazing at each other the whole time, absolutely lovesick as two teenagers, the Twins oblivious, fascinated by the meal.

That night we help the Twins get ready for bed like usual but when Sam says good night and starts to go to her own room I grab her hand, shaking my head. I lead her to the bed where the Twins are just getting settled. They look up at us and Jacob moves over to make more room so Sam can slide in next to me. That night we sleep as a family, with me tucked safely away in the middle.

Hours later, after they have all fallen asleep, I slip the engagement ring on Sam's finger. She may hate me for taking away her independence with the gesture, for denying her the right to tell me 'yes, I'll marry you, Jack.' But in our hearts, we've already taken that step, she's made it clear what she wants is exactly what I want and I don't need any more of her words as verification.

And honestly, I'm too afraid to give her the chance to deny me yet again. I know she would never do that, but…okay, fine, I'm a hopeless romantic, okay? I want to see her wake up in the morning and find that precious engagement ring on her finger, a symbol of my devotion and love for her, and I want her to throw her arms around me and kiss me silly until the rest of the world fades away and there's only me and her. And our children in the other room so they don't have to witness our display of affection.

You can imagine my surprise when she doesn't even notice it the next morning, doesn't notice it while she's driving to work, and doesn't notice it when people are staring at her hand all day. Charlie finally asks her what it is when we're getting ready for bed the following evening, and my beautiful Sam is so shocked she nearly passes out. And then we do the whole kissing thing.

Yep, this is my life now. This is my family, and my home. And in the immortal words of Dorothy Gale, "There's no place like home."

The End

* * *

Author's Note: There will be an epilogue posted within the next couple days, I haven't written it yet. Let me know if I should keep Sam's POV within this story or if I should post it separately. I don't want it to get lost in the confusion, and it may take me a month or two to write it. I'll let you know what I'm doing in the epilogue.

I hope you really enjoyed this story, and I hope I keep you interested with Sam's version. Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews.

Bixata


	17. epilogue

Epilogue

I'm on a mission. My first official mission as Ambassador to the Asgard. One of their protected planets has finally become technologically advanced enough for the Asgard to make their presence known. These humans aren't as advanced as Earth by any means, but they're smart enough to understand that their Gods are really just very intelligent aliens who have been protecting, and deceiving, them for years. My experience with SG-1 in first contact was called upon to act as liaison between the unsuspecting humans and their beloved Gods.

I've been back for over a year now, and my voice has more or less returned to normal, though it's still difficult to shout. I found this out when Jacob pulled another bone-headed acrobatic stunt that scared ten years off my life. And he had the nerve to laugh about it. I swear, if my hair wasn't already white, it'd be getting gray hairs by the fistful. Or…no, that isn't right. But you get the idea.

Anyway, at least I can speak properly now, and I use my voice to its full extent, much to the amusement of the kids, and, I'm sure, the exasperation of my wife. Yep, my wife, Sam Carter-O'Neill. I love the sound of that. So worth the wait.

So I'm sitting aboard Thor's ship, the _Enterprise_, going over the intel about the people I'm about to introduce to the Asgard. I've been taking my duties as ambassador very seriously, even tried to learn their language but it was a lost cause. Just isn't my thing, and there's no way I could ever get my mouth to make the crazy sounds of their language.

Sam and I were given a tour of the Asgard homeworld during the first weeks of my indoctrination to the world of diplomacy, and Carter's eyes about sprung from her head when they showed us a new ship they're building. It's magnificent, a real work of art, equipped with the latest defensive shields, the fastest engines, and the biggest honking space guns you could imagine. Oh yeah, the _Carter-O'Neill_ is a real beauty. There's an entire philosophy devoted to the choice of this particular designation, but I try to ignore it. The idea of an Asgard-Tau'ri marriage is a little disturbing.

Back to the point, at a recent council meeting they brought up the topic of this planet currently spinning peacefully just below us, unmarred by the galactic warfare of the last few millennia. A haven of safety thanks to my buddies. They were discussing how they should first introduce themselves to their 'children', when I made the offhand comment that maybe seeing a human with their Gods might reassure the Allusians. I kid you not, they call themselves Allusians. My little grey buddies were less than amused when I quipped, "So do you suppose they're alluding to the fact that they're really illusions?" Sometimes I can't help myself, my mouth is making up for all the jokes I missed out on during my captivity and forced muteness, and it is by no means prejudiced in its selection of what constitutes for an appropriate or an amusing or even a good joke.

So anyway, my suggestion (of a human presence at first contact, not my interpretation of their name) was immediately recognized as the brilliant and wise plan that it is, and the next thing I know I've been volunteered for the job. So here I am, planning first contact with a planet of human beings at about the technological and social development of the United States in the early 1900s. I better not see anybody doing the Charleston, I don't think I could take it.

I'm dressed in the familiar and comfortable green battle fatigues that I wore offworld with SG-1, however, and despite my strongest protests, I'm armed with only my cane. Oh yes, I'm a great first impression, old man with a bum leg and white hair vainly covered by a faded green baseball cap. The better to lull you into a false sense of security, my dear, yes allow me into your home and don't mind my bright wide eyes and big teeth. Or is it come into my home? Dang, I just read this to the kids, which is it?

They drop me off in front of the Stargate, alone, unarmed, and facing the curious hoard of those nearby who had witnessed my descension, or materialization from thin air, depending on your point of view. I feel like I'm missing my arm as I fight the urge to rest my arms on a P-90 that isn't there. What was I thinking? This is crazy, did they not see my diplomatic skills with the people of K'Tau? I mean, we practically blew up their sun and I still couldn't convince them that they were going to die if they didn't leave.

"Hi."

Oh yeah, knock 'em dead with your impressive rhetoric, O'Neill.

One of the younger men steps forward, dressed in a rather impressive black suit, looking remarkably like Daniel at a funeral. Okay, bad example. "You appeared from nowhere." He is appropriately in awe of me. Or, my entrance. Whatever.

I fight the urge to say, 'Take me to your leader' and instead I stand up straight as I can, looking important and strong, and say, "I am here as a liaison to the Asgard. They have asked that I deliver a message to your people. They'd like to meet with you folks, face to face."

Of course, they look at me like I'm crazy.

"Then why not come themselves? Why send you?"

"Hey, I'm just the messenger. My people are allies of the Asgard, they thought I might be able to convince you of their sincerity."

"If you are allies of the Gods, then you must be a God yourself."

"No. I'm not a God. And neither are the Asgard. That is why they have come to speak with you. Your planet has been under the protection of the Asgard for many…uh, centuries, and you have therefore enjoyed a freedom that was rare in this galaxy. They believe you are ready to hear the truth of their existence."

An older man comes forward out of the gathering crowd, and studies me curiously. "You speak as though you are from another world. Yet you did not come here from through the Stone Circle."

"I'm from a planet called Earth. You may know it as Midgard." I decide not to tell them about spaceships and interstellar travel.

"The home of our ancestors." He nods approvingly.

"Your people were brought to this world by the Asgard many centuries ago, to protect you from a threat to Earth by false gods. They have kept your planet safe, so that you may live by your own choosing. They tell me they are proud of your accomplishments and are eager to meet you."

"You claim that the Gods speak to you. What is your name, old man?"

I scowl at the condescending tone of the younger man, as well as the name he's bestowed upon me. But before I can say anything else a woman practically falls out of the crowd in her desire to get closer to me. She gapes, and inches closer, peering under the brim of my cap to see my face. I stand perfectly still as she reaches out and removes my hat.

She gasps, and starts trembling. "It is Guardian."

Okay, so I didn't know what to expect when I came here, but it surely wasn't that. So I stare back.

Another man pushes himself out of the crowd and joins the woman, and I realize I know them both. They are the parents of the girl who was almost raped, for whom I initiated our rebellion from that hellhole. The man is obviously more skeptical than the woman. "Guardian could not speak."

"Because he wasn't allowed, that man stole his voice," she argues passionately. "I'm right, aren't I? You are Guardian, I know it."

I don't know what to do. This isn't why I'm here. But apparently my speechlessness confirms my identity because the next thing I know I'm getting the stuffing hugged out of me. My arms automatically wrap around her shoulders, and I realize she's crying, her tears soaking my chest. "How is your daughter?" I ask, sincerely hoping that she is fine.

That makes the woman sob harder. "She is well, thanks to you. We are all well, because of you." She pulls back a little. "You disappeared, and we did not know what had become of you."

I smile at her. "I went home."

She finally pulled out of my arms, a little embarrassed, wiping at her tears, and waved her arm at the Stargate. "As did we. We never thought we'd see you again. It was almost as if…we thought that maybe…" She looks up. "And you were indeed with the Gods. They sent you to protect us. Now you have rejoined them in your rightful place among the stars."

The other two men are watching us with interest now, and the older asks, "This is the man you spoke of? The man who brought your people out of the darkness of that world and vanished, as though he had never been?"

"He is the Guardian," she confirmed. "A great man who saved our people, who took great pains upon himself to defend our sisters and young ones. He gave up his freedom to save our lives. He was indeed a message from the Gods."

"Then you believe he now speaks the truth about the Gods."

"He is the Guardian. He is a man of honor. His actions are his words, and we should listen to all he has to say. We did not listen the first time, and we suffered for it. I trust this man with the life of my daughter. He will speak the truth."

By now the crowd has grown so that not an inch of the field near the Stargate was remains untouched except for a three meter radius around me, the woman and the three men. I was about to interrupt their discussion about me by explaining the truth, but for the first time, I could truly understand why the Asgard had allowed these people to believe they were true gods.

This woman felt blessed. Because of me and my actions. Because of the idea of the Guardian, that I might have been a gift from some higher power that wished to ease her suffering and to help her through a difficult time. This thought gave her comfort, and a sense of belonging perhaps, for it meant that she had not been left there to die, that she was there for a purpose, that there was a lesson to be learned. And now she would share that lesson with others, she would show them what I had taught them, not with words but by her actions. And so the spirit of the Guardian never dies, it lives on among the people who suffered with me long after I am gone.

And that's enough to make any man proud.

"The Asgard would like to meet you." I say, appearing indifferent despite the knot in my throat. "They are not Gods, but they have protected you and asked for nothing in return. They have allowed you to maintain your free will, and have given you control of your destiny. Will you accept them in their true form, as loyal guardians of your world? Or will you reject them for their appearance, despite their actions that have given you such freedom in your world?"

Now we shall see how well they have listened to the wisdom of the Guardian.

The older man looks around at his people. "We have always felt safe here under the protection of the Asgard. Our ancestors were brought to this safe haven, and we have continued to enjoy our freedom. As you say, we have always had the right to choose our faith, and our way of life. We have never felt threatened here. I would be honored to meet those responsible for the security of our world. As I am honored to meet you." He looks me straight in the eye as the others around us shout out their agreements.

I nod my head slightly, acknowledging their decision. "Then I guess my work here is done." I reach for the Asgard crystal in my pocket to tell my buddies aboard the _Enterprise_ that it's their cue for the big entrance and my exit.

The woman reaches out to grasp my arm, almost pleadingly. "What is your name?"

I smile at her, and just before I'm surrounded by white light and transported to the ship I tell her-

"I am the Guardian."

The end. Again.

* * *

Author's Note: Someone gave me a great idea to tell the next story from several different viewpoints, rather than just Sam's. I think I may do that, but the majority would be Sam's. It will also deal more with Jack and Sam's relationship, although I usually tend to avoid that kind of stuff since it's been so overdone. But I'll try my best. It will be posted separately as 'The Guardian's Wife' but it could be weeks or months before I get it out.

Thank you so much for all the reviews, and feel free to keep them coming in if you have any ideas for the sequel. Or if you just want to make me feel all warm and fuzzy with kind words.

Bixata


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